


The Memories That Haunt Us

by Morgan Briarwood (morgan32)



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Mystery, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 94,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7573366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan%20Briarwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Metropolis, Diana Prince travels to the USA in search of Kal-El, Bruce Wayne finds his efforts to identify Superman interrupted by a horrific series of murders in Gotham, and Lois Lane helps Clark Kent make some decisions about their future. An alternate take on <i>Batman v Superman</i> and how the three superheroes might have come together...just in time to save the world, and each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In The Aftermath

#### Paris

 

Diana drew in her breath slowly, stretching her arms upward with her fingers clasped together, a simple parvatasana pose. She held the pose for six breaths then sank gracefully into mudrasana, her body folded, her palms flat on the thick pile carpet.

Abruptly, the power cut out: lights went dark, the gentle music went silent. Diana rose, not hurrying, and walked to the window. It was dark everywhere. As suddenly as it went out, the power returned. The lights flickered and then steadied to normal.

The television came on, all white noise and a weird motley of black and white. Diana crossed the room and reached out to turn it off.

_“You are not alone.”_

The voice was harsh and distorted but distinctly male. On the screen, words flickered in and out of view, the same words as had been spoken.

_“You are not alone.”_

Diana’s heart raced when she realised the words were not in French, but in her own native tongue, an ancient dialect that had not been used outside Themyscira for a thousand years. Was this meant for her, then? She moved toward the screen, cautiously, as if the screen itself might be the speaker.

_“You are not alone.”_

Diana, still not sure what was happening, spoke aloud. “Who are you?”

_“My name is General Zod. I come from a world far from yours.”_

“Why are - ” Diana began, but the voice went on as if she had not spoken.

_“...For some time your world has sheltered one of my citizens. I request that you return this individual to my custody.”_

It was a one-way message, perhaps a recording, Diana decided, somewhat relieved. But the implications were staggering. She crossed the room and picked up her Blackberry as the voice droned on. The same message emanated from the cell phone, perfectly synchronised with the television.

 _“To Kal-El, I say this,”_ the voice of Zod concluded, _“surrender within twenty four hours. Or watch this world suffer the consequences.”_

It was impossible! How was the world to locate a single individual among six billion? An individual who would obviously be trying to hide? Zod had provided no clues that might help. A gender, yes, but that narrowed the pool only by half and perhaps not even that. There was no way to guess what continent he might be on, what race he might resemble, not even his age. What if Kal-El were a child? Even if this person could be found, how could people know the right thing to do? Was this Kal-El a criminal? If so, extradition laws might be said to apply, but what if he were a refugee? There were laws about that, too, which said he was entitled to protection. Would the leaders of the world hold to their values, or betray them in the face of this threat?

Memories of war crowded into Diana’s mind. The horrors the trenches and the smell of mustard gas. The hopelessness of a generation lost, lives of youths ruined and for what, in the end? They celebrated the end of the “war to end all wars” but Diana only saw them repeating the same old mistakes. The heartbreak of her own failure, a century before, had been more than she could bear.

She had withdrawn from the world after that. She left love and pain behind. Memories of Wonder Woman faded into legend. Legend became myth, and eventually, myth became fiction.

_“You are not alone.”_

With four shattering words, Zod had all but guaranteed it would all begin again. If this Kal-El were not found, in twenty four hours the world would face a war that would span the entire globe. It was a war the people of this world were utterly unprepared to fight.

There was a brief buzz of electricity and suddenly everything was bizarrely normal again. The phone in Diana’s hand went blank. The television turned itself off.

But Diana, and the world, was forever changed.

She could not be outside this when the entire world was under threat. No matter what the personal cost, it was time for her to return to the world. She would find this Kal-El.

The only problem was, Diana had no idea where to begin.

 

 

#### Metropolis

Even now, the day after, the air was full of dust. His eyes itched with the airborne grit and when he drew a breath there was an odd sensation in his mouth. He almost tasted the strangeness in the dust. He covered his mouth with his sleeve to breathe more comfortably. It was good to see so many volunteers here, ready to help, but he wondered how many of them would suffer for their generosity in years to come: how much damage this dust might do to lungs, eyes and flesh. There was more in the air than concrete dust.

He reached the front of the line and bent over the sign-in sheet, barely looking at the woman co-ordinating the volunteer effort.

“You’re Bruce Wayne!” she announced, the words muffled by the protective mask over her mouth and nose, but just clear enough for those surrounding them to hear. Heads turned, voices stilled.

Bruce winced. “Not today. Just send me where I can help.”

She pulled her mask down and spoke more quietly. “There are other ways a man in your position could help, Mr Wayne.”

“And I’m doing them,” he insisted. “But I...” he gestured vaguely to the right, where eighteen hours before there had been a busy street, “I was here when it happened. I need to be here today. And you need all the help you can get.”

She nodded. “We do.” Her tone became more business-like. “Do you have any skills I should know about? Any medical training or expertise in construction or demolition?”

Bruce shook his head. “I know more first aid than most, but I’m not a medic. As for construction,” he offered a self-deprecating shrug, “I always hired others to do that for me.”

She smiled and made a notation on the sheet beside his name. “Look for the yellow van. They’ll give you some safety equipment and you can join one of the digging teams. Please remember to return here and sign out before you leave. We need to keep track of everyone - ”

“In case the rest of the building falls down,” Bruce finished for her. “I understand. Thanks.”

“Thank _you_.” She raised the mask back over her face and waved him on.

Digging through the rubble was hard, back-breaking work. The search-and-rescue experts had divided what was once the financial district of Metropolis into sectors and they were screening each sector in turn, looking for survivors and assessing the safety of the remaining structures. When an area was declared safe, volunteers were deployed to assist the professionals. The volunteer team Bruce joined wasn’t digging for survivors. They were looking for bodies.

With a protective mask covering most of his face and dust settling on his hair and clothing, Bruce was unrecognisable. He wanted it that way: a kind of anonymity very different from his other mask. This wasn’t about the Gotham billionaire reaching out to the victims. It was certainly no place for the Batman. It was about being human and doing something real. On this day, he was just a citizen, no different from those working around him.

Bruce was no stranger to death, but this was something else. The first thing he uncovered, after two hours of work, was an arm, still partially encased in a sleeve. A watch on the wrist was still working. When the building collapsed, sheets of glass fell. One had sheared through flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter. He saw no sign of the rest of the woman’s body, but it seemed unlikely she had survived this injury. Bruce carried the severed limb to the place where other workers were cataloguing the human remains and then returned to digging.

The rest of the day grew steadily worse. Human bodies, whole and in pieces. Most of them had at least died quickly, skulls and chests crushed by the weight of the collapsing skyscraper. Worse were the ones who had lived long enough to know they had no chance. He found one woman in a blood-soaked business suit, her polished fingernails broken, her fingers bloody from her struggle to get out in spite of fatal injuries. She must have fought, perhaps begging for help, for hours before she bled out.

They ran out of body bags long before the end of the day. Some of those on the team Bruce joined had already left by then and been replaced by other volunteers. Bruce blamed no one for giving up; this was the kind of work that no one could do for long unless, like him, they had already survived worse. Bruce kept going, though, forcing himself to keep working through the physical strain. It was just a different kind of battle. Almost every dead body he uncovered was someone young, a life full of potential, cut short. He did his best not to think about that.

Near the end, as the search and rescue professionals were winding up for the day, Bruce carried the body of a man to the makeshift morgue that had been set up some distance from the worst of the damage. He expected to see some kind of shelter, but when he reached the place, there was just a big, open space.

There were buildings here two days before. The LexCorp building, the Metropolis Transport Authority building with its famous coffee house underneath and the HQ of some Swiss insurance company; they were gone. Not rubble, not like the Wayne Finance building a few blocks over or the one Bruce had been digging through all day. No, these three were directly beneath that alien ship when it began doing...whatever the fuck it had been doing. And they were simply gone, the ground scoured clean and flat, like the skyscrapers were never there.

And the empty space where they had been was now filled with rows and rows of corpses. The bodies nearest to Bruce were in body bags, but there had not been enough. Bodies found later had been wrapped in plastic, and some found after even that had run out, lay exposed on the broken asphalt.

Bruce stood there, unable to move or look away, his arms full of death. It was almost too much for his mind to accept. Hundreds of dead. So many he couldn't help. Very few of the bodies would have been identified. It was too soon. Families didn’t yet know their loved ones were here. Many might never know.

“This way!”

Bruce turned toward the speaker and followed her directions through the rows of bodies. At the far end there were more people, some working on the bodies, others working nearby. He laid down the man he carried and straightened up, pulling the protective mask down as he did so. He needed to breathe unfiltered air. The dust was less here and the smell wasn't bad yet. That would come later.

“Are you alright?” the medic asked.

Bruce shrugged. “I’m doing better than them.” It was all he had. His fingers throbbed with pain and every muscle in his body ached.

“You aren’t the only one who can’t make sense of it.”

Perhaps the words were meant to comfort; Bruce couldn't tell. What they did was fan the flame of rage that had been growing in him all day.

It was an alien invasion. _Alien_ , for fuck’s sake! It was one thing to accept the logical probability that there was life on other planets. It was something else to have alien ships in the sky broadcasting demands and threats. And that demand was terrifyingly specific. Bruce didn’t know how the situation got so out of control or why Metropolis became the epicentre of the destruction. But he was going to find out. Oh, yes, he was going to find out.

“There _is_ no sense in it,” he said aloud. Unconsciously, his voice had dropped to a low growl. “But for every person lying here, every senseless death...someone has to answer for it. There has to be a response. It can’t be meaningless.”

A movement to his right caught Bruce’s eye and he whirled that way to see a camera being lowered. Instinctively he took one step toward the photographer, but then caught himself. Not now. Not while he was this angry. Instead he forced himself to turn his back on the photographer and walked away.

That photograph, destined to win a Pulitzer Prize, first appeared on the front page of the _Daily_ _Planet_ and by the following day it was on front pages worldwide. It depicted Bruce Wayne as the world had never seen him before: ragged and dirty, his face covered with dust except where the mask had protected his nose and mouth. Where his skin was clean, the hard line of his jaw and the fury in his eyes were clearly visible. And his irises reflected the endless rows of the dead.

 

 

Bruce groaned as he stripped off his shirt. He was very fit, he had to be, but his body was not accustomed to the kind of hard, manual labour he had been doing all day. He was too exhausted to face the journey back to Gotham; he couldn’t safely drive and the no-fly order was still in effect so he could not go by chopper. He was lucky his Metropolis apartment wasn’t one of the buildings that had been turned to rubble.

His sweat glued the fabric to his flesh so he had to peel it away from his skin. The shirt joined his pants and boots in a large trash bag. He rubbed at his shoulder, digging his fingers into the muscle behind his collarbone, feeling the ridges of old scars.

He removed the rest of his clothing and stuffed every stitch into the trash bag before knotting it tightly. He intended to analyse that dust, right down to the quantum level if necessary. While digging, it had been easy to put it out of his mind, but there was something in that dust which caused a mild reaction in his skin. He could still feel it: a slight tingle, particularly around his eyes. Most people would dismiss it or not even notice, but Bruce wasn’t most people.

He stepped into the shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go. He scrubbed his skin from head to toes, then did it twice more until that odd tingling went away. After washing his hair just as thoroughly he turned the water off and grabbed a towel. He was fastening the towel around his waist when he heard Alfred’s knock.

Bruce emerged from the bathroom and saw Alfred setting a tray down. He hesitated in the doorway, keeping one hand on the towel. The tray held a plate of chicken, rice and vegetables, and a tall glass of fruit juice. His stomach churned, rejecting the meal before he’d even smelled it.

“I don’t think I can eat,” Bruce said apologetically.

Alfred turned to him, giving no sign he noticed that Bruce was practically naked. “Try,” he insisted. “Then you should get some rest.”

“There isn’t time.” Bruce reached back into the bathroom and grabbed a second towel from the rail. He used it to scrub at his wet hair.

“What can I do?” Alfred asked.

“Do we know what happened yet?”

“Things are somewhat clearer than they were this morning, Master Wayne. I have the file from General Swanwick. They are still assessing but the video of his conversation with the alien is quite revealing. I copied it to your tablet so you can watch when you’re ready.”

“Good. I want you to extract some of the dust from my clothing,” Bruce nodded toward the trash bag, “then dispose of the rest as HazMat. Send a set of samples to the lab. I’ll analyse another set myself.”

“Very well, _sir_.”

Bruce draped the wet towel over his shoulder. He felt his bones pop as his spine straightened as if he’d automatically come to attention. When Alfred called him _sir_ in that particular tone, he knew he was in trouble.

He sighed. “Alright. What?”

Alfred picked up the trash bag of clothing. “I do not believe the Batman can be of much help out there tonight.”

“Batman?” The Bat had been the last thing on his mind. Bruce replayed their brief conversation. He had said, _there’s no time_. “That’s not why I’m hurrying,” he explained. “I need to call a board meeting to get Wayne Enterprises on the reconstruction before LexCorp can buy out the key tenders. I need to organise some help for the rescue workers. Being there today was important but they’re under-equipped. They need HazMat, water and snacks for the workers, better lifting equipment. Protective gear. Helicopters to airlift survivors out of there.”

Alfred nodded gravely. “I can do all of that while you rest, Bruce.”

From _sir_ to _Bruce_ in mere seconds, and Alfred had not questioned the need for HazMat. Bruce knew he was beaten. If he didn’t promise to eat and then at least try to sleep, the next tray would be milk and cookies. Probably laced with a sedative.

“Alright, I’ll rest,” he conceded, then added quickly, “for a little while.”

He was rewarded with Alfred’s brief smile. “Thank you.”

 

 

 _“It wouldn’t be much of a surrender if I resisted.”_ The alien looked entirely human, if you ignored the Halloween costume he was wearing. He seemed very relaxed and confident. Invulnerability could do that to you, Bruce guessed. What was odd was how relaxed the woman appeared to be. When a powerful alien being appears in the sky above a secret military base and demands to speak to you, a few nerves would be appropriate. But she was all but flirting.

 _“You can’t expect us not to take precautions,”_ the doctor’s voice said. _“You could be carrying some kind of alien pathogen, or...”_

The alien interrupted him. _“Been here thirty three years, doctor. Haven’t infected anyone yet.”_

Thirty three years. That would narrow the search a lot.

This was the part of the recording that Bruce kept replaying. The part where the alien stood up. He drew his hands apart, the gesture entirely casual, almost accidental, and the steel link holding the handcuffs together snapped. The faint _ping_ was clearly audible.

The alien moved toward the one-way glass. _“You’re scared of me because you can’t control me. You don’t, and you never will. But that doesn’t mean I’m your enemy.”_

The implied threat was chilling. _I'm not your enemy...yet._ For all his fine words, the broken city spoke for itself. He seemed sincere when he said he was worried about Zod but there was deception underlying the whole scene. Like the way he let them handcuff him when he could snap the steel as easily as Bruce could snap a dry twig.

 _Superman,_ they were calling him. The moniker seemed bitterly ironic. He wasn't a _man_ at all.

The woman, though. His interaction with her was interesting. It would be easy to dismiss her as an airhead flirting with a hot guy, but Bruce knew better. Lois Lane was an award-winning journalist and airheads didn't win Pulitzers. He stopped the playback and ran a search for her name, excluding results from the _Daily Planet_. He didn’t want to read her work, he wanted to read _about_ her. The first article he found described her first encounter with the alien, who apparently saved her life when she was attacked by something aboard an alien ship discovered beneath a Canadian glacier.

Aliens. Fuck. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around that.

He had been fighting a war in Gotham all his adult life. The scale of that war had suddenly become galactic. Exactly the right word. Criminals warring on the streets, even international wars were now small. Now the people of Earth had experienced their first interplanetary war.

Bruce did not sleep that night. He slept as little as possible these days, and could function perfectly well on a couple of hours sleep every two or three days. Instead, he studied Lois Lane. The alien had rescued her from the ship in the ice, and he surrendered himself to the military, apparently for her sake. Lois Lane would lead him to the alien.

Around midnight, Alfred appeared once more. He told Bruce that he had organised the meetings for the following morning and had arranged for supplies to be flown in for the rescue efforts. He had reached out to FEMA offering further aid from Wayne Enterprises. He added that LexCorp was unlikely to be bidding aggressively for the reconstruction contracts. It appeared Lex Luthor was among the dead in Metropolis. His son, Alexander Luthor jr, would inherit his father’s empire, but the boy was very young.

“How young?” Bruce asked, suddenly still. He remembered a gunshot, and a rain of pearls on the sidewalk. His father’s last whisper, _Martha..._

“Not a child,” Alfred answered, understanding. “He’s twenty, I believe.”

“Thanks.” Bruce made a mental note to reach out to young Lex Luthor. Just because the father was a vile, manipulative snake, didn’t automatically make the son bad.

“Good night, sir.” Alfred picked up Bruce’s discarded supper tray and glided from the room.

Bruce went back to work.

Nearly four hours later, Bruce rose and walked out onto the balcony of his penthouse apartment. The ache in his back and shoulders had eased and he arched his back, stretching as the chill air surrounded him.

From the balcony, Bruce could see Gotham City across the bay. He had a spectacular view of the distant city lights past the shadows and broken skyscrapers of Metropolis. Bruce would do what he could to help Metropolis, but Gotham City, across the bay was his home and his burden in a way no other city could be.

He heard sirens in the streets far below, and from across the bay the distant sound of a helicopter. When he looked toward Gotham he saw a searchlight cutting through the air from the helicopter. Out of long habit he turned his gaze upward to the clouds above the city. Of course, he saw no sign there. The old Bat signal still existed, but it was rarely used any more. Not since the Joker fell, leaving chaos and a broken hero in his wake.

The cold air seared his lungs and Bruce shivered. He rubbed his bare arms and gazed at the empty sky for a moment longer before he turned to go back inside.

That was when the flash of light caught his eye. Bruce’s breath stopped. From the towers of Gotham, a beam cut through the air. The cloud above the city reflected the great circle of light with the shadowed bat in its centre.

 

 

#### Gotham City

The woman standing beneath the searchlight wore a long, black duster. Her red hair lifted in the wind and she raised a hand to tuck a few wayward strands behind one ear.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” she said, without turning around.

The Batman took a single step out of the darkness. “I was occupied. What do you need?”

She turned to face him. “There’s a crime scene you should see. It’s on the corner of Mason near the railway bridge.”

“Why this scene?” Batman asked. He knew the location and it was not near Crime Alley or the docks, his usual haunts.

“You’ll know why when you see it. You don’t have long.”

That was cryptic, but good enough. Without another word, the Batman stepped up to the edge of the roof and then off. His cape billowed out as the air caught it, spreading like wings. But he wasn’t flying this time. In a move so practiced it was automatic, he caught the waiting slackline with a grapple. The jerk as the cord took his weight shocked his already-strained muscles but the next moment he was sliding smoothly down the zip wire. He landed lightly in the alley and vanished into the darkness.

The vehicle he thought of as “the fast car” but the Gotham press had dubbed the “Batmobile” roared to life as he hit the gas.

“Alfred. Corner of Mason where the rail tracks cross it. Is there anything in my way?”

Alfred answered at once. “Mason Square has been sealed off as a crime scene. Multiple homicides. GCPD are on the scene.”

Bruce turned the car toward the overpass. He could circle round and approach from the east. If he went up to the museum roof he would have a good vantage point and could drop in from above.

“I recommend approaching from the museum roof,” Alfred suggested.

Bruce permitted himself a momentary smile as Alfred echoed his own plan. “Good call. Are we clear?”

“All clear as long as you take the surface streets.”

In minutes he steered into the delivery tunnel under the museum building. He spun the car so it was facing the right way for a quick exit. He fired a grapnel upward and flew swiftly to the roof. The museum was a modern building and the roof was covered with solar panels. They provided cover for him as he crossed to the space above Mason Square. He snapped a power-vision visor over his eyes and looked down into the square.

Yellow tape cordoned off a large area below him. Police vehicles formed a wall just outside the tape: six patrol cars, three vans and two plain vehicles with blue lights flashing. Half of GCPD had to be there, but Batman saw no sign of CSU. He wondered if the crime scene techs had been delayed deliberately to give him the first look at the scene.

He had seen more than enough death in the past twenty four hours. What he saw below him was more familiar, and yet nothing he had seen before. There were three bodies lying on their backs, carefully arranged on the asphalt. Two were male, one female, a fact made obvious because they were clothed only in blood. They lay with their feet together like the hub of a wheel and their arms outstretched to shape a macabre hexagon...or should that be circle? Little lights encircled the bodies: coloured lights, like the kind you see on Christmas trees. It was a bizarre detail.

The visor zoomed in on the scene. The woman was white and her long, blonde hair had been spread out around her face like some kind of halo. Her eyes were open, staring at the sky. Almost perfectly between her eyes was the dark hole of a bullet wound. Someone should have closed her eyes, damn it. He saw a gleam of gold at  her neck: a pendant. The second victim was male, darker skinned. Batman could not see his face but his body-type and hair suggested he was hispanic. His torso had been sliced open from ribs to cock. The third victim was African American. Batman could not see what had killed him, but the pool of blood suggested a wound to the upper torso inflicted from behind. It wasn’t easy to stab a man from behind and hit the heart, but it could be done. If he wanted to know for sure he would either have to get closer, or hack the coroner’s system later.

He knew why Barbara wanted the Batman to see this. It was the work of an equal-opportunity psycho, perhaps, but still a psycho. The Christmas lights suggested something more. Why did these crazies always need some kind of weird calling card?

“What do you see?” Alfred’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Three dead. I’ve never seen anything quite like this, but it’s familiar, too.” He realised that didn’t make much sense. “I’m sending some images through, but you don’t have to look. It’s pretty bad.”

“Receiving. You don’t often feel the need to warn me about...oh, I see.”

He thought he actually heard Alfred gulp. The scene was carefully crafted to send a message. But a message to whom? And what was the message? Most likely if he could uncover one answer the other would become apparent.

“Are you going to hunt?” Alfred asked.

“Not tonight. That scene is too meticulous. He won’t have left anything to track. I’ll see you back at the cave.”

There was no reason for the Batman to risk getting in the face of so many cops, and it was close to dawn. But there was one thing he could do before he left.

The Batman rose and stood at the very edge of the roof where the rising sun would make him visible. He kept his gaze on the scene below until someone happened to glance upward. The cop did a double-take and slapped the shoulder of the man beside him. Both men looked up, then a third.

They saw the Batman. A dark shadow against the lightening sky. They knew why he was there and that he was on the case. He vanished from the roof as the first rays of the sun struck the roof.

Bats only come out at night.

 

 

#### Smallville

“Are you alright?” Lois asked in a soft voice.

Clark half-turned, looking back over his shoulder. Lois stood on the pathway about halfway between him and the ruined house. The light of the setting sun turned her hair to flame and her skin to a golden glow. His smile was entirely genuine. “Better for seeing you,” he answered candidly.

Lois smiled back, but her expression quickly turned serious. “I know you’re dealing with a lot.”

In just a few days Clark had discovered he was the last hope of a dead planet; had spoken with the ghost of his biological father; had seen the world he called his home invaded by others of his kind. The last survivors of Krypton wanted the Earth for themselves and they wanted something from Clark himself that he still didn’t entirely comprehend. Forced to choose, he fought them, a powerful but unskilled boy compared to those highly trained warriors. He killed them, the first of his kind he had ever known, the last of his kind who existed. He killed the last of them, Zod, with his bare hands while begging him to stop. Yes, it was a lot to deal with.

He could say none of this to Lois, but he didn’t need to. She knew.

“Are you going to stay?” Lois asked.

“Here in Smallville?” Clark shook his head. “No, it’s a small town and too many people saw what happened here. I can’t stay and be...Superman.” That name felt very strange.

“Then you’ve decided at least one thing.”

Clark sighed. “Yes, but...I’m not sure I know who Superman is, either.”

“He’s the man who saved the world.” Lois said it as if there were absolutely no doubt.

“And destroyed a city,” Clark said.

“I’m more responsible for that than you are, Clark, and I’m struggling with it, too. I don’t know how I can ever...”

Clark moved instantly to take her into his arms. “No, no, Lois. None of this was your fault.” He held her against his chest and stroked her hair.

Lois pulled back. “Then why can’t you believe that of yourself?”

Clark grimaced. “Because they came for Kal-El, Lois. Whatever else they chose or I did, it started because I am here. Because of me.”

“You shouldn’t feel responsible,” she insisted, “but if you do, maybe that’s the place to begin.”

Clark tucked a strand of Lois’s hair behind her ear. “Walk with me,” he suggested.

As they walked, Lois curled her fingers around his, warm and reassuring.

“When I was a boy, I didn’t know why I was different. I thought that I had these abilities for a reason. I wanted to help. My Dad was afraid of what that would mean.” Clark led Lois to the side of the house where three upturned barrels still stood: his childhood playground. “Because he wanted me to, I tried hard to hold back when I saw people...in trouble, or in danger. You know about the bus crash, don’t you? It was one of the stories about me you tracked down.”

“When you were a schoolboy, yes.”

“Dad was angry that I saved everyone, because it made it much harder to deny what I could do. He told me to remember I didn’t owe them anything.”

Lois squeezed his hand. “That’s a bit harsh.”

“He meant well,” Clark demurred. “Mom overheard, but she didn’t say anything at the time. A couple of days later, when Dad was out working the farm, she sat me down and told me Dad was right, I didn’t owe anyone my help. Then she told me that helping because you feel you owe someone is the worst reason to do it. I should do what I think is right, _because_ it’s right. No other reason.”

Lois smiled. “So, that’s who Superman is.”

“I think...that’s who he _should_ be. I don’t know if I’m up to it.”

Lois stopped walking and tugged on his hand a little. “Clark, how quickly can you fly to Metropolis?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Pretty fast. Why?”

“Can you take me with you?”

He hesitated. “Uh...I could, but the cold and the air pressure at speed...I don’t know if that’s safe for you. Why do you want to fly there?”

“There’s something I want to show you,” Lois shrugged. “I can just tell you, but I think seeing it will mean more.”

Clark considered. He would have to fly much more slowly than he usually did, and be careful not to go too high, but he would be holding her and could monitor her body to make sure she was okay. It could work. He kissed her lightly. “Well, then, we both need to get changed. Dress for cold weather.”

 

 

#### Metropolis

“Lois,” Clark breathed. For once, he was completely lost for words.

One wall of Lois’s apartment was full of the stories she had collected after their first encounter. Organised in chronological order and marked on a map, she had followed him backwards from the Canadian glacier all the way around the world and back to Smallville. He was amazed by how much she had found. There were incidents documented here that even he had forgotten. She truly was a brilliant investigator.

“All these people you helped,” Lois said softly. She moved closer to the wall. “Six men on a fishing boat that capsized off Alaska.” She touched the handwritten note she’d made when she spoke to the men he rescued. “This woman you saved from what would have been a horrible beating. She left him after that and pressed charges. This little girl you saved twice. You saved her life when you pulled her from the car, but you also saved her future by getting her father to the hospital. If you hadn’t been there, she would have been an orphan. Instead she’s about to graduate from high school.”

“You found all of them,” Clark marvelled.

“There were a few times when you couldn’t save everyone,” Lois went on. “The oil rig...three men died in the explosion before you got there. But in all of this, Clark...” She moved closer to him and looked up into Clark’s eyes. “There is not one death that you caused, not by action or by failing to act. Not a single person I spoke to said you were anything less than a miracle. That’s who you are.”

Lois ran her fingers over the S on his chest. “That’s who Superman can be. Will be.”

Clark let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. He might never be able to live up to her vision of him, but he wanted to, he wanted that desperately. He would try and never stop trying. Superman could be that hero. And Clark Kent? Perhaps he could be...

He looked into her shining eyes and kissed her, long and deep. He held her close and Lois slid her hands up his back, pulling him even closer. He lost himself in the kiss, in her, and for a few seconds he was able to forget the death and destruction he had left in his wake. The kiss lasted for a very long time.

When Lois broke the kiss, there was something very different in her smile. “You can’t hide much in that suit,” she teased.

Clark swallowed, embarrassed, but he said, “I don’t have anything to hide from you.”

Her hand slid down his spine, drawing a small, unexpected sound from his throat. She cupped his buttock. “The bedroom is that way,” she whispered.

He carried her there.

 

 

Since learning that his power came from Earth’s yellow sun, Clark had found that he didn’t really need sleep. He slept, but more out of habit than need. Lois, on the other hand, needed to sleep, and he slipped carefully from her bed.

Someone had pushed a copy of the _Daily Planet_ under her door with a terse note: _Where the hell are you?_ Clark picked up the newspaper and stared at the photograph on the front page. The anger in that man’s eyes seemed to burn off the page.

 _“For every person lying here, every senseless death...someone has to answer for it. It can’t be meaningless.”_ The quote, attributed to Gotham billionaire Bruce Wayne by the _Daily Planet_ article, was a real gut-punch.

The day after his battle with Zod, the people of Metropolis had rallied. Hospitals overwhelmed by the injured had implemented strategies to cope. Rescue efforts began among the rubble of fallen buildings. City leaders issued calls for able citizens to assist and thousands responded. And where was Clark? Hiding in the wreck of his childhood home in Smallville, struggling to come to terms with what he had done.

One consequence of coming out to the world in such a spectacular way, was Clark could no longer afford to have human weaknesses. There could be no more such self-indulgence. If he was going to be the hero Lois deserved, he had to start here, in Metropolis.

He had an hour until dawn. Clark dressed once more in the blue suit and cape. He wrote a short note to let Lois know of his plan and left it on the pillow beside her. He was fairly sure that disappearing from her apartment right after they slept together would not get him on her good side, but he could only hope she would understand. Metropolis was her home, after all.  Lois stirred in her sleep as he silently left the room and he glanced back, so very tempted to rejoin her. Another time. He hoped there would be many other times.

Clark flew high above the city and studied the damage he and Zod wrought in their battle. The scout ship containing the genesis chamber would never fly again; it had crashed in the harbour and was still there. Clark saw with no surprise that the military had taken control of that crash site and were guarding it. The scout ship could still be a threat to Earth, but for the time being it was probably safe in military custody. Zod’s original ship was gone, of course, sent back into the Phantom Zone along with those of his people who survived. They had escaped the Phantom Zone once, and Clark didn’t know nearly enough about the technology to be sure they couldn’t escape again. It was a worry, but like the scout ship, not an immediate one.

The ground that had been beneath Zod’s ship when the singularity formed had been razed clean. More than just the ship had been drawn into the Phantom Zone. Everything nearby had gone with it. Clark’s mind reeled from the horror of that, and the worse horror of knowing there was nothing that he, even with all his power, could do about it. Those people, human and Kryptonian alike, were gone. All he could do now was help those he could still help.

That thought sent him toward the site of his final brawl with Zod. He knew the damage was bad: that had been Zod’s intention. For this, though, Clark was equally to blame. He didn’t think about it, not during the fight. He was too caught up in battling his enemy, too focussed on stopping Zod to understand that Zod wasn’t the only one who needed to be stopped. The skyscraper that had been cut in two: he caused that. The other tower they smashed through hard enough to weaken the structure so it fell in on itself: that, too, was on him.

The people of Metropolis had achieved a lot in just one day, but he could see there was a great deal of work ahead just to clear the site so reconstruction could begin. Clark flew lower, examining the structure of the damaged and fallen buildings, looking for the stresses and weaknesses that indicated danger to the people working to clear the rubble. That was when he heard a heartbeat. And another. There were still people alive in there!

Clark turned in the air, ready to plunge into the broken building. Then a second thought held him back. Perhaps it was a bit late to be considering the consequences of his actions, but this time he would wait and be sure that he could save those people without endangering others.

He circled the building, checking from every angle, and then went to work.

 

 

“Is someone there? Help! Please, help us!”

“I’m coming!” Clark called back. “You’ll be alright. Just stay still.” Three heartbeats reached his ears and two more voices: one person crying, the other whispering prayers.

He was working as quickly as he safely could, reinforcing the structure as he tunnelled his way in, to ensure the building wouldn’t collapse any further. He could have punched his way through, but that would have made the structure unstable. When he broke his way through the last slab of concrete in his way, he found himself looking down into what had been an open-plan office. The space was dark to human eyes, but he could see well enough to reconstruct what happened.

As the building crumbled, the floor had sloped to a sharp angle, and everything in the room - desks, computers, chairs - had slid down the slope. Some of it fell through the shattering windows, until the ceiling on that side met the floor, closing the gap. Then the falling debris formed a wedge between the floor and the collapsing ceiling. These three survivors - a man and two women - had found relative safety on top of that wedge. The elder of the two women was badly injured. The other two were weak and scared, but their injuries were superficial.

There was no way they could climb up to the hole he had made, so Clark floated easily down to them.

“You’re safe,” he said.

“Like hell!” The younger girl moaned.

Clark knelt beside the injured woman. She was still praying, whispering the words. Clark took her hand in his as he scanned her body. Three broken bones. A slow internal bleed that wasn’t serious yet, but would be very soon.

“I’m going to get you all out, but I have to take this lady first. She needs hospital care quickly. Can you both hold on a little longer?”

“You’re going to leave us?” The younger woman had a hysterical edge to her voice.

Before Clark could answer, the other man reached out to her. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay. They know we’re here now.”

Clark bent over the injured woman. “When I lift you, it’s going to hurt, but I promise it won’t be for long. I’m going to get you help.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He took that for consent and gathered her up as gently as he could. He flew up to the tunnel he had made. The tunnel was crooked but wide enough for him to carry her without risk of bumping her on the walls or causing her any more pain. He flew, to make the journey smoother.

As he emerged into the light, two people in protective clothing stumbled back out of his way. He flew clear of the rubble and the wind lifted his cape as he floated down toward the nearest open space.

There were voices all around him.

_“What the hell...?”_

_“Isn’t that the one who...?”_

_“...on TV...”_

_“...Kal-El...”_

_“...caused all this...”_

One man walked purposefully into the space where Clark was about to land. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

Clark looked at the woman in his arms. “She needs help right now,” he insisted, ignoring the question.

The man lifted a radio and barked into it. “I need medevac in sector D. Now!” He never took his eyes from Clark. “Who are you?”

“I’m here to help. Are you in charge here?”

“In this section I am.”

Clark laid the woman gently on the ground. “You’ll be okay now,” he said.

She touched his face, a brief caress of thanks.

Clark turned back to the man in charge. “I’m happy to answer your questions but there are two more survivors in there. I’m going back for them first.” He took off without waiting for further discussion.

When he returned with the others, carrying them both against his body, one on each side, he was not surprised to see a small crowd waiting. There was also an ambulance, so Clark flew over the heads of those waiting to drop the two survivors at the ambulance.

“Thank you,” the man said. The woman was just staring at him.

Clark simply smiled. “I’m glad I could help.” He moved away from them, walking this time. The crowd parted to let him through and he could feel their fear of him. Not all of them were afraid, but enough. This wouldn’t be easy.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” the supervisor demanded.

Clark looked up at the broken building. “It’s a bit more stable now. I was able to fuse some of the girders on my way in.”

“You can’t - ”

“Yes, I can. I’m here to help.”

The man gazed at him for a moment, taking in the flowing cape, the symbol on his chest. Then he nodded. “It’s my job to decide how each volunteer here can best contribute. If you’re one of them, you follow my directions.”

Clark hesitated only for a moment. “I’m strong enough to lift that entire building. I can’t be killed. I can be hurt but I heal so quickly it doesn’t matter. I can see through walls and I can fly. How would you like me to help?”

He laughed. “Holy shit. Did God send you, or the Devil?”

“Neither one, I hope.”

It broke the ice. Clark knew he would have to prove himself. He and others like him had done a lot of damage and if people were afraid of him, they were justified. They had dogs and equipment to locate survivors in the wreckage, but Clark’s vision was better. That was a place to begin.

 

 

Late in the afternoon, he heard Lois’s voice among the crowd of media gathering on the perimeter. He had been aware of the media there all day: cameras filming as he and the others worked, a steady stream of voices as correspondents broadcast live reports and sought interviews with anyone who came close enough. Clark simply stayed away, letting them film and photograph him from a distance but concentrating on his tasks. Now Lois was among them.

He asked Roy, the supervisor, if he could be excused for a few minutes.

“You’ve been working ten hours without even a bathroom break,” Roy pointed out. “Go.”

Clark headed toward Lois’s voice. Flashbulbs and video cameras turn his way. Questions were fired from all sides.

For most of the day a part of Clark’s mind had been working on what he needed to say and how to handle the press aspect of this. He located Lois in the crowd and made eye contact. She smiled, and that alone was enough to send his spirit soaring. He raised his hands, turning toward the thickest part of the crowd, and waited for quiet.

Slowly, the babble of questions ceased.

Clark raised his voice. “I know you have a lot of questions. I want to answer them, but there is a lot still to do here and I think it’s more important right now that we save as many lives as possible. I hope you can be patient.”

He saw Lois carefully pushing her way through the crowd, making her way to the front.

“I don’t have any words that are enough for what happened here. It wasn’t my choice, but I am still responsible. I can’t change it, but I’m here to do what I can to help.”

“What do you have to say to the families of those who died here?” A woman journalist thrust a microphone toward him.

A male voice yelled, “Are you going to turn yourself in?”

“Lois Lane, _Daily Planet_.” Lois pushed the woman with the microphone aside as she reached the front of the crowd. “They are calling you Superman. Is that your name now?”

She couldn’t have asked a more perfect question if they had planned it. Lois had given him the angle he needed to take back control of the story. He gave her a grateful smile.

“The entire world knows my name,” he answered, looking at her. He rose into the air slightly, just enough to let them all see. “General Zod came here looking for Kal-El. But I chose the people of this planet over my own, so perhaps I no longer have a right to that name.” Clark let his gaze roam over the other journalists. He met each pair of eyes, briefly but long enough for each to know he had noticed them.

“‘Superman’ was the code name the US military used for me during the invasion. If I need a new name, it should be the one I was given here.” He turned to the first reporter who had spoken. “What can I say to the families of the dead? No words will help, or bring back the people Zod killed in his search for me. Do you want me to say sorry? I am. I feel the weight of every one of them, and if I could change it, I would.” Clark looked for the one who asked if he would turn himself in. That was a trickier question. “It’s not for me to decide if there’s a crime to answer for here. I have lived among you for a long time, as an American citizen, and I respect the laws and constitution of this country. If I am charged with a crime, I will answer for it, like any other American. I won’t be hard to find.”

Clark sought out Lois again. She smiled and mouthed the word _Later_. Clark rose a bit higher into the air. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I must get back to work. There are people still trapped in there.”

 

 

#### Paris

The photograph on the front page of _Le Monde_ seemed to sum up the tragedy in Metropolis. It was a close-up of one of the volunteers who had spent the day digging through the rubble. A protective mask that had covered his lower face was pulled down to his chin and the clean skin around his mouth stood out in stark contrast to the thick layer of dust that clung to his hair and clothing, that filled the lines around his eyes. It was the eyes that the photographer had captured so perfectly it almost had to be digitally altered. Those eyes, dark windows into a soul filled with rage, caught the light in just the right way for the photographer to capture the reflection in the cornea: the endless rows of dead bodies the unknown man had spent the day extracting from the rubble of Metropolis’ tallest buildings.

Diana studied the photograph for a long time before reading the accompanying article. She understood the man’s anger when so many people had lost their lives, but the depth of his rage, with no sign of accompanying grief, troubled her. The man was a stranger to her, but something about him seemed familiar. She knew him, because she understood with perfect clarity the kind of man he was.

The world was still reeling from the impact of the alien incursion that leveled Metropolis. It was too big for Diana to ignore, in spite of her vow to stay out of wars. She had been at Charles de Gaulle airport, waiting for a flight from Paris for the United States when it became clear the battle was over. Truly, she hadn't expected it to end so quickly and had been preparing herself for a lengthy war.

Her intervention was no longer needed, but the article made clear that she might still have a role to play. Now, she had a destination. She would fly to Metropolis within the hour. At the very least, she wanted to find out more about this alien whose presence so endangered the world.

 

 

#### Metropolis

When Clark reached Lois’s apartment that night, he felt almost spent. The emotional toll of seeing the devastation he helped bring to the city weighed on his soul, but it was more than that. He felt physically drained, tired to the bone. And that was not normal for him. It wasn’t normal at all.

He raised a hand to knock on her window.

Lois appeared at a dead run and flung the window open. “I thought you were never coming! Clark, I have a great idea!”

He flew inside and dropped to the floor, absurdly grateful for gravity. He collapsed to his knees.

“Clark?” Instantly, Lois was beside him. She pulled his cape aside and wrapped her arms around him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m...I don’t know. I’m tired.” Clark leaned into her embrace. “Just give me a moment.”

Lois ran her fingers through his hair. “You’ve been working all day. It’s not surprising you’re tired.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll draw a bath for you. Okay?”

“That sounds good. Thanks.”

Clark stripped off his suit. It was as dirty as his skin, covered with dust from the rubble. The Kryptonian fabric, designed to last, was undamaged. He rubbed at his shoulder to ease the ache and walked, naked, into Lois’s bathroom.

She had drawn the water very hot and added a sandalwood-scented oil to the water. The hot water was soothing. He leaned his head back on the rim of the tub, and sighed. “This is nice.”

He felt Lois’s fingers caress his shoulder under the water. “Just relax,” she murmured against his ear.

He turned his head to kiss her. “Lois, something’s wrong. I don’t _get_ tired. Not like this.”

Her smile vanished. “Clark, are you sick?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He reached for her, cupping her face with his hand. “It was a tough day, but physically, I’ve done things much harder. I mean, you know better than anyone what I can do.”

Lois frowned. “You were sick aboard Zod’s ship.” She dipped a sponge in the water and added soap, making it foam up. “Lean forward,” she instructed.

“I’ve been on Earth for so long my body adapted to Earth’s atmosphere. I couldn’t tolerate what’s normal for my people,” Clark recalled. He leaned forward and Lois ran the soapy sponge over his shoulders.

“Is it possible that’s why you’re feeling ill now? Maybe you caught the Kryptonian version of a cold, or...I don’t know. Pollution from the ships? Something that affects you more than us?”

“It could be,” Clark agreed.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go back.”

“I have to, Lois. I made this happen. I have to do what I can to help.”

“And you need to take care of yourself.”

“I will.” He took the sponge from her and turned around, kneeling in the water to scrub himself down. He felt better already. “You said you had an idea?”

“Yes!” Immediately, Lois was all smiles again. “I’m going to interview Superman.”

Clark raised his eyebrows. “Uh-huh. In the bathtub? Isn’t that a little risquée for the _Daily Planet_?”

Lois laughed. “Well, whatever works. No, I mean, a series of articles, focussing on Superman, who he is, why he’s here. We work on it together, to introduce him to the world properly. What happened here is making people afraid, but if people understand what you did and how much worse it could have been, they’ll start to see you as you are.”

Clark knew they were afraid of him. He’d spent the day experiencing that, and it was horrible. But he thought he’d made a start with the people he worked alongside.

“So, you want to be Superman’s PR manager?”

Lois made a face. “Call me that again, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap! I’m talking about journalism. We don’t lie. We just tell your story, the good and the bad. I already spoke to Perry and he loves the idea. What do you think?”

Clark smiled. “I like it. As long as we can keep Clark Kent and Smallville out of the story. When all this settles, I want to be able to live some version of a normal life. With you.”

“I want that, too.” Lois’s expression turned to puzzlement. “Can that suit of yours be washed? I never thought about it before.”

And at that, he couldn’t help laughing. “Well, it stood up to bullets, fire and the equivalent of a nuclear blast. I don’t think water and detergent can harm it.”

“In that case, I’m going to clean it. If you did pick up some kind of pollution we don’t want it on your clothing. Then we’ll start work on that interview.”

 

 

#### Gotham City

Bruce turned on the electron microscope and studied the image of the dust sample that appeared on his screen. Most of it was exactly what he should expect to find: brick and concrete, a little glass, some steel. But there were also small particles of something he couldn’t identify. Something with a crystalline structure, green like an emerald. But emeralds got their green hue from traces of chromium; this looked nothing like that. Geology wasn’t Bruce’s field, and while the equipment in the Batcave was good, there were limits.

The second set of samples was already in the WayneTech lab for analysis. It was too late to call them, but he added it to his growing list of things to do in the morning. Whatever those green particles were, he had a feeling they came from the alien ship. He needed to know for sure whether they were dangerous.

He downloaded the data so he could show it to the scientists at WayneTech and turned his attention to his other problem: the murders in Mason Square.

The preliminary autopsy reports were in and two of the victims had been identified. Bruce ran a search on the names and started digging.

The woman was Gina Mannix and she was from Metropolis. She was reported missing after the invasion and her name was listed with the many other dead and missing of the city. She worked for LexCorp, but then half of Metropolis either worked for LexCorp or was related to someone who did. Gina had a sister who lived with her, a married brother who lived in another city and parents, also in Metropolis. So what brought her to Gotham, and why had she not contacted her family after the invasion? Wouldn’t she want to know they were okay, and let them know she was, too?

The first of the men had been identified from his fingerprints, which meant he had a police record. Bruce called that information up and found himself looking at a rap sheet that painted a very familiar picture. Firearms offences, assault, breaking and entering, but the only charges that stuck were the minor offences. His lawyer was familiar to Bruce. The same sleazebag who always showed up when one of Luthor’s goons got arrested.

They both worked for Lex Luthor. A coincidence? He needed to identify the other male victim to be certain.

Lex Luthor was dead. His business empire would continue under the existing LexCorp board, at least until the details of inheritance were sorted out. But his criminal empire would not transition as quickly or as easily. The death of a mob boss always shook things up in the criminal underworld and it was likely such a shake-up would involve deaths. Bruce didn’t care if hoods slaughtered each other in their scramble for the scraps from Luthor’s table. But the nature of these murders wasn’t something he could ignore. Anyone who mutilated and displayed bodies like that was someone who enjoyed it. That wasn’t someone Bruce was willing to tolerate in Gotham City.

He checked the time, confirming it wasn’t too late to make a phone call, then dialled a number. The phone he used was untraceable. It routed the call through twenty different exchanges and if anyone could trace that path it would end in a VOIP exchange on the dark net. There was no possible way to confirm the call even came from the USA; it certainly couldn’t be traced to an estate just outside Gotham City. The phone also modified his voice in the same way as his suit.

The call was answered quickly. “Hello?” It was a man’s voice.

“It’s me, Jim. I need to talk to Barbara.”

There was a hesitation before Jim answered. “I’ll get her.” Bruce heard a thunk as the receiver was set down. Police Commissioner (retired) Jim Gordon had never been one for small talk.

A few moments later he heard Barbara’s voice. “Batman?”

“Who is the lead detective on the case?” he asked. He already knew the answer, but it was the simplest way to begin the conversation.

Barbara answered at once. “Janet Cavendish.”

“I need to meet with her. Tonight.”

Barbara drew in her breath audibly. “I’ll do what I can. Watch the sky.”

“Always.” Bruce ended the call and went to suit up.

 

 

He knew Barbara Gordon wouldn’t fail him, so Batman was already waiting on the roof that held the Bat signal when she arrived with Detective Cavendish. He didn’t reveal himself, but watched as Barbara turned on the great searchlight, painting the clouds above Gotham with his sign.

Sometimes, it was good to remind everyone that the Bat was out there, so he let them wait, just for a little while before he emerged from concealment.

“The victims were all connected to Lex Luthor,” he said, announcing his presence.

Barbara had known he was there, but he saw the other woman startle before they both turned to face him.

“We know one of them worked for him,” Detective Cavendish said, her voice steady.

“Luthor was killed in the invasion. Someone’s cleaning up his organisation.” Batman wasn’t quite certain of this yet, but he didn’t know Cavendish well enough to show her anything less than absolute certainty.

“Who?”

“I’m working on that. If I’m going to catch him, I need something from you.”

“It’s _my_ job to catch him, not yours,” Cavendish snapped.

Barbara put a hand on her arm. “Janet...”

Batman simply looked at them both.

After a silence, Cavendish sighed. “Tell me what you need.”

“When more bodies show up, and they will, you call me _first_. No one touches the scene until I get there.”

“You know we can’t do that,” Cavendish objected.

“I know that if you _don’t_ , this will get out of hand, fast. This isn’t a usual mob killing.”

“I know,” she sighed, and her whole demeanour changed. She appeared defeated. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I have,” Batman said, moving forward. “The precision of the display was meant to frighten all who hear of it. This killer wants to provoke terror and...” He broke off, his mouth dry as the nagging familiarity of the scene suddenly burst into terror in his mind. Not Christmas lights. _Carnival_ lights. He swallowed, hard. “...And chaos,” he concluded. “Don’t give him what he wants.”

“He will help, Janet,” Barbara said quietly.

It was clear she didn’t like it, but she nodded. “Is there a faster way to contact you than shining a light in the sky?”

Batman looked at Barbara. The secret was hers to tell, not his.

“My dad,” Barbara said without hesitation. “The signal only works by night, obviously. But if you call Jim Gordon, he can get a message to Batman at any hour.”

Barbara’s unhesitating trust made Batman feel more confident about trusting Cavendish himself. He drew a small flash drive from his belt and held it out to her. “This is what I have on the victims. I think Mannix is your best lead. If you can find out why she came to Gotham, it may lead you to the killer.”

She took the drive from his gloved hand. “I’ll look into it.”

Batman nodded to Barbara and retreated back into the darkness.  

 

 

#### Metropolis

Very few private funerals require a police presence, but this one was attended by nearly all of the wealthy and prominent citizens of Metropolis and the surrounding cities. The security presence was discreet, but comprehensive. Both police and private security were there to protect the endless parade of men and women in sombre black.

Lex didn't mind the parade. He knew how important it was to be seen in all the right places and this certainly qualified as an essential event to be noticed attending. What Lex hated was that so many of them wanted to _talk_ to him. They were compelled to express their hypocritical condolences, these vultures who probably wanted his father dead almost as badly as Lex himself. They had to say how very sorry they were, lies spoken through poker faces or barely concealed smiles. They expected him to thank them for their lies and he, like a well-trained puppy, complied...when what he really wanted to do was murder the lot of them.

After this day, Lex vowed, he would never again play the role other people wanted him to play. He would be true to himself, and damn what polite society demanded.

At the graveside, he endured the speeches about what a wonderful man his father had been. Lex Luthor sr., now deceased, was a great business man (of course he was, because money and power were the only things that mattered to him). He was a great patron of the sciences (naturally, because patents were worth a fortune; no scientist whose research was funded by LexCorp ever benefited much from their own work) and of the arts (funding opera and theatre let him rub shoulders with the rich and powerful and funding other media was about controlling it: control the entertainment of the masses and you control their thoughts) and a great philanthropist. That last was not true at all: LexCorp under Lex Luthor senior donated to endeavours that benefited Lex Luthor senior. Generous contributions to causes like the Metropolis Police retirement fund helped encourage some to look the other way when certain shipments came in. Discreet campaign funding served a similar purpose. These brown-nosing hypocrites had no idea who Lex Luthor really was.

More interesting, to Lex, were the people who chose not to speak. Familiar faces: LexCorp board members, cronies and henchmen who had plenty to say while his father was alive, but now were silent and watchful, vultures waiting for their chance to pick over the corpse.

 _Wait your turn,_ Lex told them silently. _This lion will have his share before the vultures move in._

When it was finally over, Lex remained beside the grave as the other “mourners” slowly filed away. It wasn’t out of respect, and it certainly wasn’t grief. He just wanted to avoid any more conversation. Tomorrow, he would find out what was in his father’s will, and would have to deal with that. He wouldn't be shocked if the bastard had left him with nothing. If he had...well, that was a problem for tomorrow.

Footsteps on grass make very little sound, but Lex stiffened as that quiet shuffle interrupted his thoughts. He closed his eyes, feigning grief - he was getting very good at that - but whoever it was didn't leave. He wasn't coming closer, either, just patiently waiting. For what?

Lex turned abruptly, ready tell his unwanted companion to fuck off, but he bit back the words when he saw who was there.

“Are you okay?” Bruce Wayne asked him. Oddly, he actually seemed sincere.

Lex shrugged. “Just peachy,” he answered sarcastically.

Wayne gave a quick smile. “Yeah, it’s a stupid question. I know you must be sick and tired of hearing it.” He gestured toward the road, where most of the cars were rumbling toward the cemetery gate. “Can I offer you a ride home? The paparazzi will be waiting to mob you as soon as you’re outside the police cordon. If you ride with me it’ll throw them off.”

Lex hesitated, but whatever Wayne’s motive, he couldn’t see what he had to lose from accepting the offer. He shrugged again. “Okay.”

“I’ll wait in the car. No need to hurry if you’re not ready to leave.”

Now _that_ was insulting. “I’m ready now.” Lex allowed himself one final glance at the coffin. He wanted to open it up and drive a stake through the old bastard’s heart, just to be certain. But of course there wasn’t really a body in there. LexCorp tower vanished into the black hole Superman created, leaving nothing to find. Even if they had found a body, it would likely be in unrecognisable pieces. Lex turned away from the grave and fell into step beside Wayne as they walked, slowly, back toward the cars.

Wayne made no attempt to engage Lex in conversation as they walked. Lex wasn’t sure what to make of that. He knew Bruce Wayne only by reputation. His father sneeringly referred to Wayne as the Prince of Gotham, unworthy inheritor of generations of wealth backing a business empire even larger than LexCorp. From the media, Lex knew that Wayne had never married but was never short of women to hang on his arm in public. In private...well, that was hard to know. It wasn't important.

The car was a sleek, black limousine with dark windows. Wayne let Lex enter first and he sank into the soft leather seat, relieved when the closing door shut the world out.

“Did you want to go home, or is there somewhere else you...?”

Lex interrupted. “Home. Please.”

Wayne touched a panel to give his driver the instruction and the car began to move. It was a quiet, smooth ride and the silence was relaxing. Perhaps too relaxing, as Lex allowed his guard to slip a little. He sighed, letting his head fall back against the seat.

“I know how overwhelming it is,” Wayne said, after a long silence.

Lex's eyes flew open. “I’m fine,” he snapped, an unguarded reflex.

“No, you’re not,” Wayne contradicted gently. “But that’s okay, you’re not supposed to be. Lex... Or is it Alex?”

Lex narrowed his eyes. “Lex is fine. Bruce.” The name came out harshly, like an insult. Lex mentally kicked himself. He was giving too much away. He was supposed to be in mourning.

Wayne didn’t flinch. “Lex, Wayne Enterprises and LexCorp are rival companies, but that doesn’t mean you and I have to be. There will be a lot of people around you in the coming weeks, people who expect something from you, or want things.”

“What do _you_ want?”

“Nothing at all. That’s my point. I lost my parents when I was young, too.” Suddenly Wayne looked different, as if a mask had fallen. What Lex saw underneath his mask was pain.

“Don’t pretend you know how I feel.” The only pain Lex felt was sheer boredom with everyone who thought he was sad about his father’s death.

“I _don’t_ know how you feel,” Wayne admitted, speaking more truth than he knew. “No one can. But there are not many people who have experienced what you’re about to go through - this coming into an inheritance that’s more than most people can imagine. There will be a lot of pressure on you to become what other people think you should be. It’s...” he hesitated, as if had changed his mind about what he wanted to say, then concluded, “It's not easy to be your own man.”

“And what, you’re offering advice? Like you said, you have a vested interest here.” _And you have no idea how much my own man I'm going to be_.

“I don’t, really. I mean, my company has a presence in Metropolis, and we invest in some of the same sectors as LexCorp but our interests are much more aligned than in conflict. But I don’t want to talk business today. What I'm offering is...well, just an open door from someone who has been through it. I won’t be insulted if you choose not to take me up on it, either. I just want you to know the offer is there.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“Right now, it means if you call me, I’ll take the call. If you drop by, I’ll make myself available. No strings.”

“Why?”

“Because it might make a difference,” he said cryptically.

Lex wanted to probe that, figure out what was really going on here, but he also saw an opportunity. An open door was a door that could be exploited. He would not risk shutting it until he understood what Wayne’s bleeding heart might get him.

So instead he gave the same could-care-less shrug he had been giving all day. “Thanks,” he muttered.

 

 

#### Arkham Asylum

Five miles outside the Gotham City limits stood the maximum security and highly specialised institution known as Arkham Asylum. Rebuilt and upgraded with funding from the Wayne Foundation, the asylum’s outer wall was now four metres high and almost a metre thick. Inside the wall was an electrified fence. There was only one gate. The asylum itself still had its original shell: a Gothic building, topped with turrets almost like a castle. But now all of the windows were filled with bullet proof glass and covered with steel bars. Most did not open. Security was tight; it had to be. Arkham held the most dangerous criminals Gotham had ever known.

Jeremiah Arkham, director of the asylum for nearly thirty years, was working late. The cup of coffee at his elbow had long since become cold. Beside it, a plate held the crumbs of the sandwich he had eaten for supper. He signed a report with a flourish, added it to the pile and reached for the next.

He heard a gentle knock on his door and set the report down on the desk. “Come in,” he called.

His secretary opened the door, but didn’t enter the room. “Doctor Arkham, I’m leaving now.”

“That’s fine, Rachel. Have a good weekend.”

“Goodnight, Doctor.” She closed the door quietly.

Jeremiah rose from the desk and crossed to the window. It was dark outside so there wasn’t much to see out there. Only shadows.

Something slammed into him from behind. He just barely avoided a broken nose by turning his head to the side a split second before his face hit the glass. Pain exploded around his eye and he shouted involuntarily. Something very solid pressed against his back, holding his body against the window.

“Where is he?”

The voice, a distorted growl, sent a chill through Jeremiah. He wanted to say something, but it was taking all his concentration just to breathe.

“Where is he?” the voice demanded again. Jeremiah felt the pressure on the back of his neck increase.

“Who?” he gasped.

His back slammed into the wall, all the breath left his lungs and he found himself looking into a black mask. “B- b- ”

“ _Where is he?_ ”

Jeremiah no longer needed to ask who “he” was. Only one resident of the asylum could provoke this man like this. He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “He’s in his cell. The same place he’s been for eight years!”

“Are you sure?”

For a moment, Jeremiah felt a spear of doubt, because surely the Batman would not be here, would not be asking _this_ question, without reason. Instead of a simple yes, he said, “Do you want to see for yourself?”

“Yes,” the Batman said.

“M-my access key is in the desk drawer.”

The Batman released him and stepped back, allowing Jeremiah to move. He crossed to his desk and unlocked the drawer. His hands were shaking. There was an alarm an inch from his fingers. It would have security here in two minutes, police in fifteen. If he tried to raise the alarm he would be dead in two seconds.

He extracted the access card and held it out.

“Show me,” the Batman insisted.

Jeremiah didn’t argue. The Batman followed him through the asylum hallways, a silent shadow at his back, until they reached a solid metal door. Jeremiah opened the door by swiping his card and typing in a code. They went through that door and two more like it, to finally emerge into a room full of monitors, each displaying a view of a different cell. The guard watching the monitors looked up as they entered. Jeremiah gestured, touching his eye and then his ear: _see no evil, hear no evil_. The guard turned back to the screens without a word.

Each screen showed an image of one of the cells, dimly lit because it was night. Most of the inmates slept, but not all. One man sat on a bed, his back to the camera, rocking back and forth. Another had a pack of playing cards and was placing them one by one on the floor.

“You can go in if you want to,” Jeremiah offered.

He detected the barest hesitation before the Batman moved to the final door.

Jeremiah nodded to the guard, who unlocked the door and then locked it behind the Batman. Jeremiah watched the monitor. There was no doubt which cell the Batman intended to visit. The Joker.

The Batman stayed only long enough for the Joker to notice him and for them to exchange some words. The guard let the Batman back through the door and sealed it.

Once again, they walked the dark and silent hallways.

“You thought he escaped,” Jeremiah said cautiously. “Why?”

“A triple homicide last night. It reminded me of his work. I had to be sure.”

“Of course,” Jeremiah agreed.

“Have you had any escapes? Or releases?”

“No.”

“What about deaths?”

Was he serious? Did he think a dead man had killed people in Gotham? Jeremiah stopped walking. “We did, as it happens. Edwin King died a week ago.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“That he’s dead.”

The Batman gripped his arm. “Tell me anyway,” he insisted.

Jeremiah thought hard. “He was seventy six when he died. He was committed here twenty years ago after he killed eight people and sent pieces of them to the police. He claimed he was saving them from devils.”

“I want his file.”

“Anything you need.”

 

 

#### Metropolis

Treading lightly through the house was a hard habit to break. Even though he had just come from burying the old bastard, as Lex passed the door of his father's room he still tensed for the man's voice, the summons that would end in seething anger, humiliation, pain. He still breathed a sigh of relief when he passed the door unheard by the phantom within. And then felt a wave of fury at himself. He was Lex Luthor now. His father was dead. Gone. Buried in a closed casket because what was left when they found his remains in the rubble was barely recognisable.

Impulsively, Lex returned to his father's door. He pushed the door open. The room was dark. In the light from the hallway, the painting above the faux-fireplace stood out. Lex hated that painting. Angels vs demons, but his demon had always lived here, in this room. He heard his own breath hitch and hated himself for letting this get to him, even now. His questing fingers found the light switch and flipped it. His breath steadied.

He crossed the room to the sideboard and poured himself a large glass of his father's Kentucky bourbon. Just because he could.

He sat in his father's chair - a Victorian-style leather armchair - and sipped from the glass, pulling a face at the unfamiliar burn. It wasn't unpleasant, though, and he drank some more. He leaned back into the chair and ran the fingers of his left hand over the studs in the leather in a conscious imitation of his father’s habitual gesture. The studs were warm under his fingers.

He felt a sudden sharp pain and jerked his hand away, sloshing bourbon over his other hand. He looked at his fingers. Blood welled from pinpricks in his first and middle fingers. Lex stared at the blood. The injury was nothing compared to some of the hurts he had sustained in this room, but it was strange. How could there be sharp edges on this chair?

A rumbling sound came from deep within the wall. Lex frowned and looked toward the fireplace. The painting he so hated slid upwards. The false fireplace split in two, revealing a dark space behind.

Holy shit, Daddy had a secret passage! Lex laughed out loud. He swallowed the remaining bourbon in a single gulp and headed toward the opening.

Lights came on as he entered, illuminating the passage. When he crossed the threshold the fireplace-door began to close. Lex turned back, afraid of being trapped. In the wall behind him he saw a panel with a glowing hand print. Tentatively, he reached out and fit his own hand into the outline. The fireplace swung open again.

Awesome. Lex grinned.

He headed down the passage. The ceiling was low, but the passage surprisingly wide - two people could easily walk side by side. At the end of the passage he found an elevator with two destinations: up or down. He pushed the button for down, the door slid closed and it began to descend. It was hard to tell how quickly the elevator travelled, but it felt like it descended a very long way before it finally came to a stop.

Lex was underneath the estate, perhaps miles below the house. The elevator doors opened into a large octagonal room with a vaulted ceiling. In the centre of the room was a U-shaped desk with six flat screens and a large bank of computer drives. There was a single chair.

_Oh, Daddy, what do we have here?_

Lex sat down at the desk. Instantly the screens came to life. He examined the computer. There was a standard keyboard and mouse, but there were other devices, too, including a palm-scanner much like the one back at the fireplace-door.

Lex looked at his fingers where the chair had pricked him. The blood had dried on his skin. _Blood_ , he thought. _DNA._ The door had opened for him because it recognised him as a Luthor. He doubted the computer would be so easy. His father had no respect for him: he would not have intended for Lex to find any of this.

He had to start somewhere, so he placed his palm on the scanner. He was unsurprised to see words appear on the screens:

ACCESS DENIED

Well, he couldn’t dig up his father’s hand, but Lex wasn’t deterred. He was a skilled programmer and hacker, better than his father had ever known. He would get in. He just needed time.

Beginning with the obvious, Lex disconnected the palm scanner. The screens flickered and new words appeared:

ENTER ACCESS CODE:

There was no indication of how many characters the code might be. That would be too easy. His father wouldn’t have chosen something obvious. This needed some thought.

Let’s see... His father was a meglomaniac with delusions of empire. He admired conquest. Lex typed _veni vidi vici_.

ACCESS DENIED

ENTER ACCESS CODE:

Lex sighed. He hadn’t expected to get it right first time, but at least there didn’t appear to be a limit on the number of attempts. He knew his father well. He would figure this out.

After ten attempts, Lex realised the code would not be in English. His father’s first language was German. And with that thought, it was obvious. He typed _nicht Wahrheit Sieg_ : Not truth but victory. Dad liked to quote Hitler, as long as he was sure the listener wouldn’t know the quote.

ACCESS GRANTED

“Woo!” Lex crowed.

Immediately the screens filled with different directories and images. Lex stared, a smiled spreading across his face. It was all here. Everything his father had kept from him...everything.

Knowledge was power, and Lex liked power.

 

 

#### Gotham City

The umbrella Detective Cavendish carried was poor protection against the driving rain. She had to fight the wind with every step she took as she climbed the steps in front of the Gotham Opera House.

Batman watched her from the shadows between the gothic pillars. When the wind blew her umbrella inside-out and she turned around to catch it and wrestle it back into shape, Batman stepped forward. It was a very simple trick of timing so that when she looked back he would apparently have appeared from nowhere.

She cursed when she saw him and lowered the umbrella, shaking the rain off it in a futile gesture. She hurried up to where he waited. “It’s inside,” she said.

“Thank you for calling me.” Batman led the way into the opera house.

Gotham Opera House was closed for some major refurbishment so there wasn’t even a show in rehearsal. The only people with access to the building were builders and security. The lobby was very far from its usual ornate splendour: the carpet had been torn up, tools and timber lay everywhere.

“It’s not very public,” Batman remarked. The murder scene in Mason Square was meant to be seen, a very public message. The next scene should have been in a similarly public location. A closed theatre didn’t have the same cachet.

“Not like the square, you mean?” Cavendish indicated the sweeping staircase that led to the circle and private boxes. “No, I think this time the message is more private.”

He had walked up these steps many times as Bruce Wayne. He came here as a boy with his parents and now came often to the opera as a patron of the arts. He had never before climbed these steps as Batman.

“You’ll get the best view from the circle,” Cavendish said as they reached one of the entrances.

Batman entered ahead of her. He strode past the rows of seats to the front of the circle. As soon as he saw the stage he understood Cavendish's abrasive attitude. He wondered if he was here as detective, or as a suspect.

There were two bodies this time, male and female, posed side by side on their backs with his feet beside her head and vice versa. As before, both were clothed only in blood. Both bodies had been sliced open: the woman through the rib cage, with the bones pulled apart to expose her internal organs; the man’s stomach open from ribs to genitals. The stage lighting had been set up around them, bathing the scene in red. But it was the prop suspended above them that drew the eye and explained why Cavendish called him so promptly. He recognised it, actually, because it had appeared in the previous season’s performance of _Faust_. It was a flying demon, but from where he stood, with a single spotlight illuminating the wings from below, it looked like a bat.

The first message was public. This was meant for _him_.

“Tell me you know who did this,” Cavendish said from beside him.

“I don’t,” Batman growled, “but I’m going to find out.” The first three victims were unknown to him, but the woman lying on the stage seemed familiar. He needed a closer look to be sure. “How long since they were found?” he asked.

Cavendish checked her watch. “Eighty seven minutes.”

“And how long until we have company?”

“Haven’t you seen enough?”

“I’m not here for tourist thrills, detective. I need to go down there.”

“You know I can’t let you contaminate the scene.”

“It’s not my first day. If you stay here, you’ll be able to see everything I do. I will touch as little as possible but I need to understand the message here.” He didn’t wait for further discussion, but jumped over the safety rail to the stalls below.

The smell hit him first, before he reached the stage. The stink of death: old blood, meat and human waste. Another change in MO: that smell suggested they had been killed here. In Mason square the victims had been killed elsewhere and brought to the place where they were displayed. Then he got his closer look at the woman’s face and got the message loud and clear.

It was Lucy Dane, the assistant district attorney who had been working with him to build a case against Lex Luthor. There was that connection again. He moved to the man and again felt a frisson of recognition. He wasn’t sure of the man’s name, but he was a private detective who had occasionally done work for the DA’s office. Had Lucy brought him in on the Luthor case?

Damn it. He could find the killer, but it was looking more and more like Luthor was behind this. And Luthor was dead, beyond Batman’s reach.

He looked out into the auditorium. With the way the spotlight was rigged, it was difficult to make out details, but he could see Cavendish watching him. Then he saw movement behind her, no more than a flicker in the shadows. He drew breath to shout a warning. An arm reached around her. A blade flashed.

 _No!_ His mind screamed, but he had too much self control to let his voice echo the denial. Instead, one of his batarangs leapt into his hand as he exploded into motion. The blade flew, his grapnel wrapped around the safety rail of the upper circle balcony and he flew upward, his cape billowing behind him.

Cavendish fell.

Batman was there as she hit the ground. Her assailant was gone. It took three seconds for Batman to make certain she wasn’t in immediate danger. She wasn’t carrying a radio - it must be in her car - so he pulled the phone from her pocket instead. He hit speed-dial one.

“Dispatch.”

Thank god she wasn’t a mom!

“Send EMT and backup to the Gotham Opera House. Detective Cavendish is down.”

“Who are - ”

“Send them now!” Batman dropped the phone. He had wasted enough time. He took off after her assailant. It had to be the killer. He saw a flicker of movement and took off in pursuit.

For some reason it was hard to see the man he was following. Yes, it was dark in the theatre - the only light came from the macabre display on the stage - but Batman lived in the dark. He owned the darkness, and rarely had trouble seeing. But his quarry seemed to vanish into the shadows, invisible. Batman followed as much by following sound as by sight.

They ran out of the auditorium, through the empty bar where patrons mingled before performances, through a narrow passage which led to the boxes. For a moment Batman thought he had lost him, then he caught the click of a door catch engaging. He dived through the door.

The figure was a dark silhouette against the bloody light of the stage. He was crouching on the edge of the opera box, balanced on the rail. One hand was on the rail, the other outstretched for balance. As Batman lunged for him, he sprang from the rail. He jumped like a skydiver - arms outstretched like wings, body extended - an insane way to jump such a short distance. Batman threw a grapple, determined to catch this man.

What happened next was impossible. Batman saw it clearly.

The grapple went _through_ the man’s back. His body faded like a ghost, and he vanished before he could hit the seats below.

Shock made him hesitate, but only for a second before he shook himself and jumped over the rail himself. He could figure out the impossible later. There was only one place the killer could have gone from there without Batman seeing him: the orchestra pit. Batman landed awkwardly on the stall seats. He got up and plunged into the orchestra pit beneath the stage.

It was too dark under there even for Batman. He snapped the visor over his eyes and immediately its display made it easy to see the uneven rows of chairs and music stands used by the orchestra. He saw the exit, too and ran that way, through the door and into the underbelly of the opera house.

His quarry was nowhere to be seen. He followed instinct, through doors into changing rooms and store rooms with their rows of weird costumes and props. He found stairs and followed them down into a basement, damp and dank.

As his foot left the last step, he felt the invisible wire catch his boot. Too late to stop, he fell, headlong, twisting in the air to take the impact on his armoured back instead of his face. He heard a ping and a hiss and adrenaline flooded him, every instinct screaming at him to run when instead he was sprawled on the floor. The visor showed him the cloud of foreign gas filling the air, a trap triggered by the wire. An instant later his suit alerted him to a toxin. Batman struggled to hold his breath while the adrenaline pushed him to breathe, breathe, breathe! He found the emergency air filter on his belt and covered his mouth. He drew in a breath, soothing his burning lungs, then cautiously got to his feet.

His quarry was gone and that poison gas told Batman the man had been prepared for him. He was up against more than he knew, and there could be more booby traps. He reluctantly conceded this round to his opponent.

There were noises coming from the theatre above. Hopefully they were cops and EMTs. Batman headed back that way and climbed the steps to the circle level instead of returning to the stage. The lights were on and the opera house seemed much more welcoming in the light.

When he entered the circle, Batman saw Cavendish sitting up. She had a blanket around her shoulders and a medic was taping a bandage at her throat. Blood didn’t show on her dark clothing.

Batman crossed to where she sat. “Detective.”

Cavendish looked up tiredly. “You lost him,” she said hoarsely.

“This time,” he admitted. “Are you alright?”

“This time,” she echoed.

The medic answered, “The knife missed the vital artery. We’ll take her in, get it patched up properly. She should be fine.”

“Can we have a moment?”

“Absolutely not!” the medic protested.

But Cavendish said, “Just two minutes. Give us some space.”

When they were alone, Batman said, “The connection is Lex Luthor.”

Cavendish frowned. “You should follow the news, Batman. Luthor is dead.”

“I know. He set this in motion before he died. I will send you a list of potential targets. Can you protect them while I find this man?”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“You’ll need to do better than that.”

 

 

Bruce stopped the car outside the Gotham Grand Hotel. He climbed out and tossed the keys in his hand once before passing them to the valet. He walked through the white and gold marble lobby to the more dimly lit bar.

“Good evening, Mr Wayne,” the bartender greeted him. “What can I get you?”

“Cognac,” he said, abruptly abandoning his plan to drive home. He badly wanted a drink.

“Coming right up. Will there be anything else?”

“I’m meeting someone but I’m not sure if we’ll be eating or just talking over a drink. Could you reserve me a table just in case?”

“Of course. Enjoy your evening.”

Bruce accepted the drink and selected a table from which he could see most of the lobby. He drank some brandy and set the glass on the table before pulling the tablet computer from his jacket. He was early; he may as well fill the time.

The files he took from Arkham were of little help. It made no sense to connect a dead inmate to the recent murders, and he knew that even as he demanded the file. Seeing the Joker unsettled him and he was afraid of repeating past mistakes. But Jeremiah Arkham had included something else. He was a clever man. He had not asked the Batman to explain his peculiar demands, but he had guessed that there was more to it than a murder. So he added an article that gave him an alternative explanation.

The article, from a psychiatric journal, suggested that in certain circumstances otherwise normal humans could develop superhuman (or “meta-human”) abilities. It described two case studies: a girl who could hear the thoughts of those around her and a pyrokinetic boy. In both cases, their abilities caused them to self-harm. The boy died in his own fire. The girl lived in isolation, unable to be around people. There were two additional articles cited and Bruce was downloading them when the person he was waiting for arrived.

Lex Luthor was dressed in white: white slacks and jacket, white shirt, casually unbuttoned, white shoes. Funereal black had looked better on him, Bruce thought, but perhaps that only reflected his own taste: he was wearing a charcoal suit and dark grey shirt and tie. Bruce turned the tablet off and signalled to a waiter as Lex headed his way. He could see at once that something was wrong with the young man. Lex was struggling to compose himself, to fix a mask in place. Bruce had seen Lex’s father do the same thing and it always presaged something bad. The son lacked his father’s skill, however.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Lex said in greeting.

Bruce offered a friendly smile. “My door is open.” He turned to the waiter. “Another cognac for me, please. Lex?” He made the offer before he remembered that Lex was still a few months shy of 21.

Lex didn’t miss a beat, although his eyes betrayed his surprise. “Bourbon. No ice.” The words were clipped and angry.

Fortunately, the waiter raised no objection. It wasn’t likely anyone would demand ID from Bruce Wayne’s guest, whether or not they recognised Lex, but it was a relief to avoid the embarrassment. With the anger simmering under Lex’s mask, a refusal might have pushed him over whatever chasm he was currently staring down.

Bruce shook his hand warmly. “Would you like to eat? The restaurant here is excellent.”

“I think I’d rather talk here,” Lex answered, taking a seat.

“Okay,” Bruce agreed easily. He sat and finished his first glass of brandy. “Bad day?”

“You could say,” Lex agreed sullenly. He slumped back in the seat, a gesture that seemed to Bruce just a little exaggerated. Lex sighed. “I wanted to ask your advice, but now I’m here it seems like a bad call.”

Bruce had to be careful. He reached out to Lex at the funeral because he felt some empathy for the young man’s situation, and because he thought there was a chance Lex could be a better man than his father. That didn’t mean Lex had no agenda. By all accounts, young Lex Luthor was a prodigy: highly intelligent and with the education and opportunities that a wealthy father could give him. Right now, Bruce had to play the role of mentor. Maybe he really could steer Lex in the right direction.

So he kept his tone light and answered, “That’s up to you, Lex. I’m happy to tell you what I think. I can see something’s bothering you.”

“My father’s _will_.” Lex spat the last word like an obscenity.

“Not what you hoped for?” Bruce guessed, beginning to see what made Lex so angry. Lex was the sole heir of his father’s estate, unless there was some illegitimate child the tabloids didn’t know about, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be unpleasant surprises in the legacy.

“He left the company to me but tied up in trust. Another way of saying I don’t get to run LexCorp.”

Well, that made sense. “In trust until when?” Bruce asked carefully.

“Until I’m twenty five.”

The waiter returned with their drinks; Lex took his and drained half of the glass quickly. It wasn’t a good sign.

Bruce left his glass untouched. He leaned forward. “Do you really want to run the company? When I was your age, the last thing I wanted was to run Wayne Enterprises.”

“I’m not you,” Lex said curtly.

“You’re angry with your father.”

“Of course I am! He just told the whole world how useless I am!” The words carried.

Bruce couldn’t imagine how awful it must have been having Lex Luthor as a father; that little outburst gave him a hint. “Lex, I think you should remember that your father wasn’t old or sick. He had no reason to think he was about to die. That will was probably drawn up when you were a child, not capable of running a company.”

“What’s your point?”

“Only that his will isn’t an indication of how he regarded you as an adult.” Bruce reached for his glass.

Lex nodded slowly. He drank more whiskey, but apparently it was helping. He seemed a little more relaxed. “Maybe,” he agreed.

Bruce swirled the brandy around the glass before taking a sip. “Do you want my advice?”

Lex had a sullen look, but he leaned back in the chair. “Sure. I’m all ears.”

“Is your income from the trust fund generous?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then maybe you should think of this as a gift. You’re twenty years old, Lex. See the world. Go skiing in Austria or dive the Great Barrier Reef. Party in Thailand. Get laid. Drive fast cars. Learn to fly a plane. Find the thing that gets your motor running. With a generous income and no real responsibilities, the next few years can be amazing for you. Don’t waste them. LexCorp will be there when you’re ready.”

Lex finished his whiskey. “What if,” he asked, “LexCorp is the thing that gets my motor running?”

 _Then I’m wrong about you, and you are just like your father,_ Bruce thought, but he answered much more carefully. “LexCorp is just a company. If it’s business that gets you going, why not take some of that trust fund and start one of your own? Show them all that you can.”

“Oh, right, that’ll - ” Lex began, then broke off abruptly. A new light came into his eyes. “That’s not a bad idea, but I think I’d rather...” He smiled suddenly. “Excellent idea! Thank you, Bruce.”

Bruce almost said, _You’re welcome,_ but he had a feeling he was going to regret having made that particular suggestion. He would need to keep a very close watch on Lex Luthor.

 

 

Diana stood in front of the full length mirror, scrutinising her appearance. In the world of men, appearance was so very important. She had chosen a blue satin dress with a high neckline that left her shoulders and arms bare. Her long hair was swept up into a French twist and she wore simple diamonds in her ears. She wanted to make an impression, but not to look like she was trying. Satisfied, she slipped her Blackberry into a matching purse and left the hotel room.

The hotel bar was quiet, but the man she had seen on her way into the hotel was still there, having drinks with another, younger man. She walked to the bar and knew he was watching her as she passed. She ordered a glass of wine, then sat on a bar stool and took the Blackberry from her purse.

Diana was prepared to be patient, but she did not have to wait for long. The two men parted shortly after she sat down. They walked out of the bar together but the elder of the two, the man Diana had recognised, returned. He made a brief call on his cell phone and then approached the bar.

“Are you driving tonight, Mr Wayne?” the bartender asked him, setting a fresh brandy snifter on the bar.

The man laid his phone on the bar between them. “That was the plan, but I just called my driver. You’re safe.” He did not sound intoxicated.

The bartender poured him a brandy.

Mr Wayne slipped the phone into his pocket and lifted the glass. His eyes turned to Diana. “Are you drinking alone?” The question was casual, an offer of company, not an intrusion.

Diana set her Blackberry down. “As you see me,” she answered, and offered her hand. “Diana Prince.”

He took her hand. “Bruce Wayne. I’m very glad to meet you, Diana.” His smile was all laid-back charm and confidence. “Are you staying in Gotham for long?”

“A few weeks,” she answered, “perhaps longer.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“My business is in Metropolis,” Diana answered. “After the recent incident I decided to stay here and travel to Metropolis by day.”

“Incident is a poor word for what happened.” Bruce’s voice took on a hard edge that warned her she had touched a nerve.

Of course, she knew that. Diana lowered her eyes in contrition. “You’re right. There is no good word for what happened.”  She looked up again and met his eyes. “I recognise you, Bruce. From the photograph. That was you wasn’t it, the day after?”

The charming smile was completely gone now. “Yes, it was. One of the buildings that came down was mine. I thought being there was the least I could do.”

“Your building?” Diana repeated. “So you’re an architect?”

He laughed. “No, I’m...” Bruce met her eyes and his laughter faded abruptly. He lifted the glass to his lips, but his eyes remained focussed on her, laser-sharp. “My name meant nothing to you, did it?”

“Should it?” she asked archly, knowing very well from the question that he was accustomed to women knowing exactly who he was and admiring him for it.

He relaxed and his smile returned. It seemed genuine this time, and Diana found his unconscious charisma more compelling than the practiced charm.

“My family name is too well known in Gotham,” Bruce explained. “I’ve come to expect it.” He sipped his drink. “You’ve done me a favour tonight, Diana. I’d like a chance to repay it some time.”

She smiled. “That’s very flattering, but I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“But you said your business was in Metropolis. What’s stopping you having some pleasure in Gotham?” He was back to turning on the charm, a well-rehearsed word-play smothering the brief glimpse of a genuine person.

Diana slipped the Blackberry back into her purse and stood; she had piqued his interest, and satisfied her own curiosity. That was all she needed from this first encounter.

“I suppose that depends on how my business proceeds. You can reach me through the hotel, Mr Wayne. That is, if you can recall my name once you sober up.” She smiled to take the edge off her words and touched his hand briefly. “Goodnight.”

As Diana walked away, she could feel his eyes on her. In that respect, at least, Bruce Wayne was like any other man. He was not her reason for being in Gotham and she arrived with no intention to look for the angry man from the photograph. Yet, she been in the city less than an hour, was just checking into the hotel when she spotted him in the bar and immediately recognised him. It was too much of a coincidence, so she decided to make contact.

And their brief conversation was illuminating.

Diana had no doubt that he would call. She was also certain she had not yet met the real Bruce Wayne.

 

 

It kept circling back to Lex Luthor.

Every victim was connected in some way to the dead criminal magnate. Bruce was wary of making that connection. Most, if not all, of the organised crime in Gotham could be traced back to Luthor, one way or another. He needed more evidence than that.

His initial working theory that someone was cleaning up Luthor’s organisation in order to take over no longer worked. Lucy Dane didn’t fit that pattern. She was a threat to Luthor himself, but far less so to the underlying organisation.

After hours digging through the data he had collected on Luthor and his network, Bruce had a new working theory. Lex Luthor had known that someone in Gotham was working to bring him down. Before he died, he had made several moves to protect himself, to increase compartmentalisation of information and to sever the weakest links. Bruce couldn’t tell whether he had known his adversary was Batman. Oh, Batman got in Luthor’s way as often as possible, but that wasn’t the same as the long game Bruce had been playing from the shadows. But Luthor must have known the Batman’s history with the organised crime families of Gotham. He took down Falcone in his first year wearing the mask. When the Maroni family filled the power vacuum, Batman took them down, too. So it would make sense for Luthor to suspect Batman was the one working against him, even if he didn’t have proof.

So maybe this wasn’t some rival clearing a path to power from within Luthor’s organisation. Maybe it was Luthor himself cleaning house. He could have issued the hit list before he died, and his super-powered assassin either didn’t get the memo or was continuing with the job regardless.

Looked at that way, the events of the past week painted a different, more disturbing picture.

Alfred read through the list of names Bruce had compiled for Detective Cavendish, displayed on the screen closest to him. “These are _all_ the people who could help bring down Luthor?”

“Not even close. Just the Gotham City citizens most likely to be on Luthor’s list.”

“I think there’s a name missing,” Alfred commented dryly.

Bruce turned away from the computer display to look at his oldest friend. “Five people have been murdered to send me that message, Alfred,” he pointed out unhappily.

“Then why occupy the police with this list?”

“Because I don’t know that I’m the _only_ target. As closely as I can figure it out, Luthor somehow got wind of the case Lucy and I were building. Two ways that could have happened: a leak in her office or a hacker good enough to get through the encryption software I gave her. Right now, I don’t care how it happened. Luthor put together a hit list of everyone who could threaten him. Gina Mannix worked in LexCorp shipping. She must have known something or given Luthor reason to think she did.”

“You mean she was a potential whistleblower,” Alfred said, peering at the list again.

“The two men in Mason square worked for Luthor’s criminal network. Both of them are in Lucy’s file. I don’t think they were good witnesses but it looks like Lucy thought they would be. But what this tells _me_ is that the list could be very long. Those two hoods might have been on the list but they wouldn’t have been high on it.”

“So, there’s no way to know where he will strike next.”

Bruce sighed. “Yes...and no. I think the first scene was staged the way it was to make all of us react exactly as we did. It was shocking enough that the cops called me in, when that light in the sky has been dark for over a year. And I showed up, got involved. Then the opera house was staged with bodies I would recognise to let me know why.” Bruce frowned. “I think I was supposed to die in that trap. Since I disappointed him, he’ll try again. I know that.”

Alfred nodded, understanding. “You believe he will stage another scene to call you out?”

“I’m certain of it, because this son of a bitch loves doing it. And I _think_ I know where. If you want to call the Batman - ”

“You shine a light in the sky,” Alfred said, his eyes widening. “Can it be that simple?”

“It’s a guess, but I hope I’m right because it’s my best shot at getting ahead of him.”

“Master Wayne,” Alfred began, then, his voice gruffer than usual, “Bruce. That’s not getting ahead of him. You _do_ understand that?”

Bruce closed his eyes. He understood exactly what Alfred meant. Alfred was the closest thing Bruce had to a father and knowing he was disappointed tore Bruce apart inside. But he saw no alternative to this plan. If he had any idea who this killer was, if he could predict his next target...but he had nothing. So for Bruce to have any chance of ending this, one of two things had to happen. Either the killer had to make a serious mistake, which didn’t seem likely, or someone else had to die.

Bruce knew it, and hated it and did not want to discuss what he knew was an indefensible plan.

“There’s another thing, too.” Bruce shifted the list of targets to a different screen and opened the file Jeremiah Arkham gave him. “Have you ever come across this? The ‘metahuman thesis’?”

Alfred gave him a look that spoke volumes, but he leaned closer to the screen and remained silent while he read the brief report. After a few moments, Bruce moved aside so Alfred could see the screen better. He picked up one of the gadgets laid out on the work table and turned it over in his hands. He pulled on the high-tensile rope and watched it reel back inside the casing.

“There have been people who claimed to have paranormal abilities for centuries,” Alfred said eventually. “That’s not new. There is something different about these recent stories.” He reached for the computer controls and brought up a search screen. “I remember something in Central City...yes, here it is.” A newspaper article popped up on the screen.

Bruce set the gadget aside and glanced at the article. “Yeah, I remember that. A red streak zipping through the streets fighting crime. It reads like something from the pulps.” He hadn’t given the story much credit when he first read it. He wondered if he should have looked into it more.

“The man I chased at the opera house...it was as if he was a ghost or a shadow. I couldn’t see him in the dark and a grapple passed right through him.”

“You think he’s a metahuman?”

“Either that, or I hallucinated.”

“Unlikely.”

Bruce smiled at Alfred’s confidence. “Here’s the problem. I have to stop this man, but I don’t know what he can do. If something like my grapple can go through him, can walls hold him?”

“Hm. I see the problem. You are thinking of Arkham?”

Bruce nodded. Arkham Asylum didn’t hold only the insane. There were also facilities for people who needed to live in specialised conditions; people like Victor Fries, whose cryogenic experiments had left him unable to survive in temperatures above zero celsius. Those inmates were patients, not prisoners, and some of them were very unusual indeed. Jeremiah Arkham would be able to devise something to hold this killer. But only if Bruce could tell him enough about what the man could do.

Preferably before he killed again.

 

 

The next few days were some of the most difficult of Bruce’s career as Batman. His preparations could not be rushed and GCPD might find more bodies at any moment.

First, Batman met with Detective Cavendish to give her his list of potential targets. He knew GCPD didn’t have the resources to protect all of them and he told her that. He carefully did not mention that the actual list was much longer.

“Two more things,” Batman said when she pocketed the list. “If you _can_ block his access to his next victims, it’s possible he’ll come after you instead. He marked you at the opera house.”

Cavendish’s hand went to her throat where the edges of a white bandage were visible. “I noticed.”

Cutting someone’s throat from behind wasn’t as easy as the movies made it look. Very few people will just stand still and let it happen. It took training and practice to get it right. Cavendish had been lucky. Batman didn’t think she would appreciate him saying so.

She said, “And the second thing?”

“Until this man is stopped, I want this signal left dark.” He tapped the spotlight with one gloved hand. “If you need me, or if any more bodies show up, call me through Jim Gordon instead.”

“I can do that, but why?”

“I want him to know I got his message.”

Following that meeting, Bruce cancelled every business meeting and social engagement in his diary for the next two weeks, including dinner with the woman he met at the Gotham Grand Hotel. He did manage to get a raincheck on that date, though. It wasn’t that he had any difficulty getting a date when he wanted one, but meeting a woman who was interested in him _before_ she knew he was a billionaire was rare enough that he wanted to see Diana again when this was over.

Bruce instructed Grace, his private secretary at Wayne Enterprises, to tell anyone who asked that he had the flu and would fire anyone who tried to call him or visit. That freed him to concentrate on the case.

By night he set up surveillance around the Bat-signal, searched the city for other, similarly powerful spotlights and made sure he could monitor them, too.

By day he researched, planned and prepared. Alfred helped him to recall every detail of the encounter in the opera house and tease out the facts about the killer’s apparently paranormal abilities. That led to a plan, but as they worked through the details it became clear that Bruce needed help. Even with Alfred remote-piloting the plane or car, Batman could not do this alone and be certain of success. Since failure meant the body-count getting even higher, that wasn’t an option.

There was really only one person Bruce could call for that kind of help. He didn’t want to do it. The thought of leading another friend to his death... But there was a reason he was Batman. When it came down to it, Bruce put his city before himself every time.

He called his former ward, Dick Grayson.

“It must be bad if you’re calling me,” Dick said bluntly.

“Who else would I call? Besides, this guy’s acrobatics in the opera house made me think of you.”

“What’s the plan?”

Bruce explained the outline of his plan.

“Sounds like fun. And I have access to a vehicle that might work when we catch him.”

“Great. How quickly can you get here?”

 

 

Bruce woke with adrenaline flooding him and the sound of the Batcave alarm blaring through the cabin. He sat up in bed, trying to dispel the nightmare image of Barbara Gordon’s body clothed in her blood and decorated with Christmas lights. He glanced at his wristwatch and saw it was less than an hour since he he let Dick and Alfred cajole him into bed.

Bruce had not slept for three days. He wasn't going to sleep now. That alarm could mean only one thing.

Alfred met him with coffee. “The alarm was triggered at the GCPD building.”

“Cops?”

“I don’t think so, Master Bruce,” Alfred answered bleakly.

“Where’s Dick?”

The younger man swung onto the computer platform right on cue. He was already in costume, all but the mask. As a teenager, he had been “Robin”, the first to wear that costume and fight beside Batman. Dick’s parents were circus acrobats and he had begun learning their skills almost as soon as he could walk. When his parents were murdered Bruce Wayne took the grieving child in as his ward and Batman trained the boy to fight. Dick’s acrobatic skill made him a natural. They fought together as Batman and Robin until Dick left Gotham to finish his education. But leaving the mask behind had been impossible for the young man. Now, Dick Grayson was Nightwing, a hero in his own right, protector of a city some miles north of Gotham. Bruce couldn’t be more proud of him.

His costume was black with dark blue accents; skintight and flexible in contrast to Batman’s armour. He fixed a mask over his eyes. “Showtime,” he said with a familiar grin.

Bruce downed the coffee quickly. It would be enough once the adrenaline kicked in.

He suited up quickly then went to the computer console to see what had put that bleak tone in Alfred’s voice. When he saw, he said only, “This ends tonight.”

“Arkham is ready,” Alfred said.

“So am I,” Nightwing agreed. “I can’t wait to try the new plane!”

Bruce fastened his helmet in place. “Leave controlling the plane to Alfred. He’s a hell of a drone pilot and with the new rig she’ll be tough to handle.”

“Go on, old man. We’ll be there before you.”

 

 

On most of the nights when he headed for Gotham as Batman, the drive helped to steady him and focus his mind on the task ahead. The speed, the control, the sheer rush of driving a vehicle a formula one driver would envy... On this night, it only increased his tension. There were too many unknowns here, too many things that could go wrong, and the stakes had become very personal.

He drove fast through the streets, weaving recklessly in and out of traffic on his headlong rush toward the GCPD building. In the sky above, his signal reflected off the clouds, indistinct but recognisable. Tyres squealed as he turned the car into the basement parking lot of the next building.

“Report,” he barked into the comm.

“Plane in position,” Alfred reported. “Target on radar.”

“Van in position,” Nightwing added. “I’m ready. Where are you?”

“On the ground. I’ll be on the roof shortly.” Batman rapelled up to the roof of the building across from GCPD. The opera house had taught him to be wary of traps. The killer had not had time to set up anything complex over there, not like the opera house, but there would be something. Batman was going to turn an ambush into a trap.

The signal light was streaked with red. It wasn’t blood: the heat from the light would have burned blood dark, but it was clearly meant to look like blood. He saw only one body, tied over the top of the spotlight with its head hanging down over the top so the light illuminated it like a grisly halo. Batman could make out short hair and the shape of the jaw. It wasn’t enough to identify the victim, but did let him eliminate Cavendish and Barbara Gordon. His worst nightmare had been finding either or both of them dead on this roof.

He tore his eyes away from the body. That was the bait. Where was the trap?

The visor over his eyes gave him good night vision but it was limited. He touched a control on the visor and it scanned on different wavelengths, scrolling through its settings from infra-red through to ultra-violet.

“Nightwing?”

“Right here, Bats.”

The nickname lifted his spirits, but he remained focussed on what lay in front of him. “There’s a net of some sort over the GCPD roof. I don’t see the target.”

“I’m in position. Can’t see him, either, but the radar says he’s there. Want me to spring the trap?”

“No. Be ready.” Batman stepped up onto the roof ledge. He took a cylinder from his belt and attached it to his chest plate. Then he reached for a grapnel and launched himself into the space between the buildings.

As he flew across the space he triggered the cylinder to spray its contents into the air ahead of him. It coated the net with viscous, sticky chemical. A lot of it ended up on his armour as well because he flew through the spray cloud. A moment later, he hit the net himself.

The net gave as Batman’s body ploughed into it, tearing in places, wrapping around him and sticking to his armour as if he were an insect hitting fly paper. Had he done this unprepared for the net, it might well have been a fatal error. Even knowing it was there, Batman struggled. His weight brought the net down and he rolled in it, struggling to bring his gloved hands together. He twisted his left hand and pulled the blades on his forearm through the net, tearing it as he hit the roof hard, on his back. Then he struck the heel of his right hand into the palm of his left, triggering an electrical charge over the outer surface of his armour. It ignited the chemical he had sprayed over the net. It burned, magnesium-bright and very hot, destroying the net and, for a few seconds, turning the Batman into a beacon that lit the entire rooftop brighter than the sun.

Revealing the man he hunted.

Batman's eyes were protected from the light and his body from the heat, though he felt it on the exposed skin of his face as one hell of a sunburn.

His quarry had no such protection. Batman had the briefest glimpse of bright eyes against dark skin before the man whirled away, turning his back on the painfully bright light. Even with his back to the light, he covered his eyes. His body shook convulsively and he doubled over as if in pain.

If Batman hadn't still been caught up in the net, he could have taken him in that moment, easily. But the burning net slowed him. He shrugged off the last strands as he moved forward ready to seize the man. Fury and triumph surged in his blood.

He was barely a single step away when the light burned out, plunging the rooftop back into darkness. Batman kept moving, certain of their relative positions, but momentarily blind as his visor adjusted. His hand swept through the space where the killer stood. He heard the scuffle of feet, the unmistakable zing of metal on metal, saw the knife plunging toward him as his vision returned and he instinctively blocked the blade. He swept out with this foot as the blade struck his armoured forearm, and felt his foot connect with flesh and then impossibly pass straight through, his momentum pulling him off-balance for a moment. He swept the cape around him, used its weight to help him regain his balance, and struck out again.

No longer trusting his vision, against this opponent, in the dark, he instead relied on other senses. Even with the Batplane moving closer to the roof, Batman heard the man's breath, the motion of his feet and though he still saw nothing he took off after the footsteps. He remembered the opera house and knew what was about to happen.

"Nightwing!" he snapped, and saw the shadow of his quarry as he dived off the roof into the alley below.

He saw Nightwing leap from the plane. He used no safety line or grapple but caught the fire escape with one hand, using it both to check his fall and spring across the alley, an acrobatic feat Batman could never have matched. When he was sure he wouldn't get in Nightwing's way, Batman took his own leap off the roof, sliding down the zipwire to the mouth of the alley.

With perfect timing, Batman blocked one end of the alley, Nightwing reached the ground at the other end and the plane flooded the alley with light, revealing their quarry once again. This time the light wouldn't burn out.

Together, they closed in on their quarry.

This had to be fast, because lighting up the alley next to GCPD was going to attract all the wrong kinds of attention. But they were fast.

In the floodlights from the plane, Batman could now see him clearly. He was black: clothing, hair and skin, but not black as in a person of African ancestry. True black, not a human skin colour. His eyes showed a little white, and Batman caught a glimpse of white teeth, but that was all.

As on the roof, the man reacted as if the light caused him real pain, but this time he rose above it. A weapon appeared in his hand, not a knife this time but something like a mace, a club with spikes, but a mace was usually heavy and the man swung this as if it had very little weight. His gaze focussed on Batman.

Batman reached him a moment before Nightwing. He blocked the mace with a casual sweep of his arm and struck with the other. Nightwing took a running leap to strike the man with both feet just below his shoulders. The man fell into Batman's next blow as Nightwing flew over their heads, curling his body into a ball. The man cried out and fell to one knee. As he fell, he struck out with the mace and this time it connected. Batman felt the impact shudder through his shin and knee. His armour protected him from the crippling spikes but not from the blunt force of the blow. In the moment, he was too high on the adrenaline to pay attention to the pain, but he would feel it later.

Batman whirled with all his weight on the injured leg so he could strike with his other foot. The blow should have been the coup de grace. But as he turned, Batman's cape billowed out, blocking for a moment the light from above. His foot didn't connect with anything solid. Fresh pain shot through his knee.

It was the shadow, Batman realised, and understood, too, in that moment that he could not win this fight. The cape was too much a part of his fighting style, and it gave his opponent the advantage.

“Nightwing!”

It took no more than that. As Batman backed off, Nightwing attacked. He ducked a blow, bounced up, landed two kicks and backed away, on his toes with fists up, like a boxer. That gave Batman the opening he needed to fling a grapnel, wrap it around the man's weapon and yank. The man tried to hang onto his mace, so he fell. Nightwing clipped him on the chin. It was over.

 

 

It was inevitable that cops would get in their way. The takedown went so well they almost got away with it.

The van was a heavy security transport, the kind used to transport bullion or gems, but refitted to carry people. The rear was windowless but well ventilated and in the Batcave they installed lights and reflective surfaces. The compartment was isolated from the cab and had an electronic lock so that, once closed, it could be opened only with the correct code.

Batman brought the van to the alley and Nightwing opened the back. They bundled their unconscious prisoner inside, but Batman knew they were running out of time. He could hear the cops gathering from the GCPD HQ.

One thing Batman would not do was kill cops.

“You’re driving, Nightwing,” he said. “Go on my signal. If that means you leave me behind, I’ll catch up.”

“Whatever you say, Boss.” Nightwing jumped up into the cab.

Patrol cars now blocked both ends of the alley. The plane still hovered above, its light flooding the alley. Too much light.

“Kill the lights and fly her back to the hangar,” Batman instructed.

Immediately the alley was plunged into darkness. The van was still brightly lit within, and Batman was a dark silhouette against its light as he turned to face the police.

Dealing with street cops was always a gamble. When Batman began his crusade, GCPD was so corrupt he knew they were the enemy. As the department slowly cleaned itself up he found a kind of truce - the police did their best to stay out of his way, and a few, like Jim Gordon, learned they could call on him for help and he would answer. Over the years, his good relationship with the police had fractured, through his mistakes and theirs. Now, he could never be sure what type of cop he was facing: one who would let him do his work; one who might help; the dirty, or the ones who wanted the glory of unmasking the Gotham Bat.

Batman ignored the guns. He ignored the shouted orders.

One officer, braver or more reckless than his fellows, approached him.

“Contact Detective Cavendish in Homicide,” Batman instructed, before the officer could do anything as idiotic as try to read him his rights.

The officer hesitated. “Why?”

“She knows why I’m here.”

The officer lifted his radio. “Dispatch, is Cavendish of Homicide in the building?”

Batman heard the radio crackle an affirmative reply.

“Tell her to get her butt down to the side of the building. On the double.”

Cavendish arrived three minutes later, at a dead run. She took one look at the scene and demanded a report from the officer.

Batman waited, knowing she would not make this easy. It wasn’t in Cavendish’s nature. She worked with him on this case because she recognised the necessity, but she didn’t like it. She was one of those cops who would arrest and unmask him if she could. Not for the glory, but because she believed in the law.

When Cavendish turned to face Batman, her expression was determined. “You know how this works. You can’t leave here like this, with a prisoner.”

“Can’t?” Batman repeated. It was a threat. Just a little one.

“There are rules!” she protested. “Due process. A little matter of evidence.”

“The body on the roof should be sufficient. Get CSU up there before the scene is contaminated and you'll find the evidence.”

Cavendish was stubborn. “Alright, let’s say there’s no doubt. Do you expect me to stand by while you make him disappear?”

Disappear. Batman understood her fear. “You have no idea how much I want to do just that, Detective, but whatever you think you know about me, I’m not a murderer.” He chose the word carefully. He was a killer, yes, in defence of others and when he saw no alternative, but he had never committed murder. It was a fine distinction, a razor’s edge of difference sometimes, but a line he had never yet crossed.

“Then let us arrest him.”

Batman took a step toward her, spreading his hands in an open gesture. “That’s my intention, but not here and now. If you take him now, you won’t be able to hold him. Start trusting me, Detective.”

He saw her certainty falter. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m taking him to Arkham. I’ll release him into the custody of the director, who has facilities that can hold him as long as necessary. You can initiate your due process there. Arrest, phone call, interview. Whatever you want.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why Arkham? Is he insane?”

“I could argue that no one sane could do what he has, but I’m not going to stand here and discuss it. We are leaving. Follow us if you want to. Get those cars out of our way or I will.”

Without turning around, Batman slammed the rear of the van closed. Just before its light vanished he saw her turn pale.

As he jumped into the cab beside Nightwing, he heard Cavendish shout. “Stand down! Get those cars out of the way. Move!”

 

 

“I have a unit prepared for your prisoner,” Jeremiah Arkham said. “If you - ”

“The police are on their way here,” Batman interrupted. “Let’s make this fast. You have a sedative for him?”

“Of course.” Doctor Arkham gestured to his staff and Nightwing opened the van.

The prisoner was conscious, but only just. One of the orderlies injected him. Working together with practiced efficiency, they strapped him into a straightjacket. Neither gave any sign of surprise at the prisoner’s strange appearance. They carried him into the asylum on a gurney.

Batman and Doctor Arkham followed, with Nightwing bringing up the rear. Batman felt pain with every step. His knee was swelling inside the armour but the night was not over yet. He did his best to walk normally but knew Nightwing, at least, would notice his struggle.

“White light seemed to cause him pain,” Batman said, “but he cannot be allowed darkness or even shadows. Soft light at all times. Yellow, I think. Blue is too close to shadow.”

“We’re prepared. Should I expect an attempt to remove him to face justice?”

“He has killed six people that I know of, but given the nature of his abilities it will be difficult to prove. With your cooperation, I think I can ensure this doesn’t come to trial.”

“Are you asking me to...?”

“Only to do your job, Director. I don’t need to pressure you to make the right decision. I do need one thing.”

“And that is?”

“Your assistance with the police.”

 

 

Arkham allowed them to use an office on the ground floor to talk with the police. It was a comfortable room, wood panelled with leather seats and a wooden desk. Cavendish sat behind the desk, and placed a recording device in plain view, making it clear this was on the record.

Batman had no problem with that. He couldn’t testify in a courtroom, but it was possible his evidence could be of some use, so he told his version of events with as much detail as he could recall.

“...The first time I saw him, when he attacked you at the opera house, I had lights shining in my eyes. I didn't see him until it was too late. I chased him and he led me into a trap. But before - ”

“Trap?”

“Tripwire and poison gas.”

“You didn't tell me that.”

“You had other things on your mind that day, Detective. What I was saying is before that happened, I saw him take a dive into the stalls that should have broken his neck.” For the first time in the interview, Batman turned to Nightwing. “You remember the opera house layout. He dived from the front of the circle balcony, face first, as if there was a pool down there.”

Nightwing knew what Batman wanted without him asking the actual question. He always did.

“I could do it with a safety line, maybe,” Nightwing answered. “But without something to catch me, I would land on the seating below. Head first? I don’t know, Bats. I _might_ be able to grab the seat backs and flip, but then I'd just crash into the next row. Either way, broken bones.”

Cavendish frowned. “So you’re saying he’s an acrobat?”

“No,” Nightwing said firmly. “We’re saying that an acrobat - like me - _couldn’t_ have done what Bats saw him do.”

“He turns his body into shadow.” Batman announced. “Insubstantial. He didn’t hit the seats, he went through them.”

Silence.

Finally, Cavendish said what Batman knew she would say. “That isn’t possible.”

“It happened,” he insisted. “After the opera house, I deduced enough to take precautions tonight, but I didn’t fully understand what he can do until we fought. Possible or not, when in shadow or darkness, he becomes something else. You only have to look at him to see that he’s more than human. That’s why he has to remain here. Arkham has experience of this kind of thing. If you remove him, he will escape.”

“What do you expect me to do? He will have to be moved for arraignment. For trial.”

“It doesn’t have to go that way. Ask yourself, when you look at what he’s done, do you want to risk losing him?”

“I have to follow the law.”

“The law doesn’t say he must go to trial. There are two ways - legal ways - you can avoid that. You let Arkham declare him insane and keep him here. Or you make a deal. Or both.”

“A deal?”

“He was hired by Luthor. His organisation didn’t die with him. This man could help you start to bring them down.”

Cavendish’s frown became thoughtful. “It has possibilities,” she admitted.

“Ask the DA for access to Lucy Dane’s files. If he blocks you, I’ll see you get copies.” He moved to the door, flanked by Nightwing.

“Alright,” Cavendish agreed, but she still sounded uncertain. “What about the prisoner?”

“That’s up to you now.”

Batman was halfway out the door before she called after him. “Wait. Who are you, under that mask? Why do you care so much?”

He caught Nightwing’s smirk as he turned back and answered both questions with two simple words:

“I’m Batman.”


	2. Beneath The Masks

#### Washington DC

#### Six months later

“Why is everyone so mesmerised by a guy in a blue catsuit and red cape?” Bruce squinted against the sunlight as he walked out of the Capitol. He reached into his jacket for a pair of sunglasses.

Senator Finch laughed softly. “I know the attack cost you a lot - ”

“Do you _really_ think I’m here because my profits are down?” Bruce asked, insulted. “Five thousand people died in Metropolis alone, Senator. Five _thousand_. And that’s just the dead. The people who lost their limbs, the people with spine and brain injuries because they were inside buildings when they fell down, the children who were orphaned, the survivors who seem just fine but will be dealing with the post-traumatic stress for the rest of their lives...they don’t even make it into your statistics. _They_ are the reason I’m here.”

Partway down the Capitol steps, the senator stopped walking and turned to him. “What exactly is it you want, Mr Wayne? Even if I agree that Superman should answer for those lives, how do you propose we make that happen? There’s no prison that could hold him. We can’t even serve him a subpoena because no one knows where he lives.”

She did have a point, though Bruce could have helped her with the address part. “Superman told the world media that he considers himself an American and subject to our laws,” Bruce reminded her. “What I’m suggesting is we put that to the test. You don’t need to serve him, just broadcast your request for him to appear and answer for his part in the destruction. If he doesn’t show up, the world will know his word means nothing.”

“And if he does appear? I come back to my original point: how do we proceed against a man we can’t hold?”

Bruce shrugged, “That’s for you and your committee, senator.”

Her careful politician’s smile turned cynical. “Nice evasion.”

“I don’t believe he is invulnerable. He killed Zod, which proves he’s not immortal. He’s not a god, but we are treating him like one. If anyone else contributed to five thousand deaths and billions in property damage, we would call them to account. Instead, Metropolis is building him a statue and dedicating a park! We do ourselves and our democracy no favours by treating Superman as above the law.”

“That’s a great speech,” Senator Finch said. “You should think about running for office.”

“Senator, I don’t deserve that sarcasm. I have the greatest respect for those like yourself who dedicate themselves to public service. Will you at least consider what I’ve suggested?”

The senator sighed. “I will consider it, Mr Wayne. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

Bruce stayed where he was while she continued down the steps. She had agreed to think about it. It wasn’t the commitment he wanted, but he could follow up the conversation later. He flipped open his cell phone and scrolled quickly through the missed calls and messages. There were the usual business updates and confirmations of decisions. Only one message was unexpected. He had a text message from Lex Luthor: _When she turns you down, call me._

“Lex,” he muttered, “what are you up to now?”

 

 

Bruce touched the limo’s microphone. “Airport, please. My plane.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver answered.

Bruce switched the microphone off and took the secure cell phone from his briefcase. He called Alfred to let him know he was on his way back to Gotham.

“If the jet makes good time I’ll be back before eight,” Bruce reported.

“I’ll see that supper is ready for you, then, Master Wayne. Was your trip productive?”

“Not what I hoped for,” he groused, “but I made some progress with the senator. How are things in Gotham? Is there anything I need to know?”

“Nothing that can’t wait until morning.”

“Have you got any news about Lex? He left a message on my phone.”

“Interesting you should ask about Luthor. Another of the LexCorp board sold to him. That makes five now.”

“Who sold?”

“Armstrong.”

Bruce did the math quickly. That gave Lex thirty five percent of LexCorp, not counting the shares his father had tied up in trust. He needed thirty eight percent to force the board to vote his way.

When Bruce suggested Lex use his trust fund to make his way in business, this was not what he meant. Although, Bruce couldn’t help but admire the kid’s smarts. It took balls, too, to take on the LexCorp board: they were some of the finest business minds in the country. Lex hadn’t tried to start a new company. Instead, he set about acquiring the one he wanted. A controlling interest in LexCorp was tied up in trust until Lex turned twenty five, but that meant that _effective_ control of the company was in the hands of the board, each member of which also owned a significant slice of LexCorp shares. Lex approached each of the board in turn and bought their shares. Bruce couldn’t prove he was using blackmail or threats, but he couldn’t think of another reason for Lex to be so successful. When he had twenty percent, he claimed a seat on the board. He couldn’t force his way into the CEO seat, but he could make damned sure he was at the table. When he had thirty eight percent, he would be able to propose increasing the company’s share capital, and ensure the vote went his way. That would decrease the percentage of shares in the trust, and make it possible for Lex to acquire a controlling interest. If he continued at this rate, he would have it before the year was out.

It was sneaky, underhanded and brilliant. The part of Bruce Wayne that was a billionaire CEO admired Lex for doing it. The part of him that was Batman was terrified of what the young man would do next.

“He only needs one more,” Bruce concluded. He’ll go after Cox. Run a background check, see if she has any obvious weak spots.”

“Already in progress,” Alfred reported. “While we’re on the subject of Luthor, there is one other thing. The MMC auction is tomorrow night. Rumour has it that Luthor is extremely interested in one of the items on sale.”

“Which one?”

“That’s the problem. Rumour isn’t sharing that detail. I have a copy of the auction catalogue but so far I see nothing obviously of interest.”

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“I thought perhaps Miss Prince might have some insight.”

Bruce sighed. “She hasn’t been returning my calls. I’ll try again.”

 

#### Metropolis

“Good, that’s our front page,” Perry White declared before waving the story aside. “Lane, any follow up on yesterday’s bombing?”

Lois answered crisply. “My source told me there’s evidence linking it to two other attacks. No group has claimed responsibility but I think it’s going to trace back to General Amajagh in Nairomi. I’d like to follow it up, but it will be a long investigation.”

“I’m not flying you to Africa on a hunch, Lois,” Perry said firmly.

“I didn’t ask!” she protested, but her eyes sought Clark’s across the conference table.

Clark shook his head very slightly. _I’m not flying you there either._

Lois gave a very small shrug which he interpreted as _a girl’s gotta try_.

“Kent, I want you on the Metropolis Museum auction tonight.”

Clark groaned inwardly, but he nodded. “No problem. Do you have an angle in mind?”

Perry snorted. “It’s a page ten story at best. Just try to make it interesting. And don’t skip out early this time!”

Clark touched his forehead in a mock-salute. “Yes, sir!”

It was his turn to catch Lois’ eye. She knew why he’d left an assignment early the previous week. One of the cranes on the building site that was downtown Metropolis had fallen, tearing down power lines and endangering hundreds of people. Superman was needed.

Lois returned his look with a private smile.

After the meeting, Lois caught up with him. “The auction. I’m so sorry.”

Clark shrugged. “It’s an assignment.” He was still paying his dues at the _Daily Planet_ and would be for a long time. He was working freelance, paid only for work Perry actually printed so he was lucky to get an assignment at all. Most stringers had to dig up their own stories. If Perry assigned him a job, he would print what Clark wrote, and Clark would get paid. He might actually make rent this month.

“I’m glad to do this one,” he told Lois. “There should be some interesting people there. Maybe I can scoop a good interview.”

Lois clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit! It should be over by ten. You could join me for a late supper.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Thai?”

“Takeout? Lois, do you never cook?”

“What for?” she laughed. “Better get started. You’ll need to get all the background reading done before tonight.”

Lois was not kidding about the reading. Jenny gave Clark a file an inch thick: background on the museum, on the items being sold and on the sellers. There was a lot to go through.

About half of the art and artefacts on permanent display at the Metropolis Museum of Culture were owned by the museum. The rest were privately owned and on long-term loan to the museum, often enabling the owners to save on the insurance cost. Not everything loaned to the museum was on public display; some items were for private viewing only, access limited to academic researchers.

The auction was a sale of items from some of those private collections. The auction would benefit a selection of local charities, including the museum itself, but the small print in the catalogue made it clear the sellers could expect to profit, too.

That was one possible angle for his story, Clark thought: the one-percenters using charity as a cover to make more money. But that didn’t feel very satisfying. There had to be a better approach.

 

 

The auction catalogue provided photographs and details of each lot, but many of the items available were on display. It was an eclectic collection with no particular theme or focus, and Diana was shocked to see something she recognised on sale. It was something she could not risk falling into the wrong hands. From her perspective, the eclectic nature of the catalogue was good: it meant that the auction was less likely to attract specialist collectors who would drive the prices up. She could afford to buy lot 31 at fair value, but not if auction made the cost foolishly high.

She accepted a glass of wine from an offered tray and moved to study a set of Japanese prints: an exquisite set of six images depicting the life of a fishing village. They were well preserved, the colours unfaded.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a male voice said from beside her.

Diana answered without looking up. “Not one of the best known artists but a superior example of the period. The lines are so simple it’s easy to overlook the detail. See how perfect the perspective is in this one, and how the use of different tones of blue creates an illusion of movement in the water?” She touched the glass above the print then looked up to meet the eyes of the man. Her eyes flew wide in surprise before she could control her expression.

Clark Kent. A man she had been hoping to meet for some time.

A few weeks earlier she had been with Bruce Wayne and caught sight of a dossier he had compiled about Superman. Bruce was convinced he had uncovered Superman’s true identity: Clark Kent. The evidence was convincing, particularly the battle fought in Smallville, Kansas just before the attack on Metropolis, which had been kept out of the national news. Kent was born and raised in Smallville.

He smiled awkwardly, pushing his glasses back into place. “I’m sorry, I don’t have your expertise. I just think they’re lovely.”

“They are.” She offered her hand. “I’m Diana Prince.”

He transferred his drink into his left hand and shook her offered hand. “Clark Kent. I’m a reporter for the _Daily Planet_. I’m supposed to cover this auction for the paper, but...” his glance swept the room quickly, “I’m a bit out of my depth. I don’t know much about art.”

It was a fascinating performance, Diana thought, and not all of it _was_ performance. He was a big man, not merely tall, but physically imposing, which would tend to create some awkwardness in close quarters. He wore thick-framed glasses he obviously didn’t need, but wearing glasses did change a person’s demeanour. The disguise was as brilliant as it was simple: few people would see the truth and even those who noticed a superficial resemblance between the gawky young journalist and the alien hero would never consider it might be more than coincidence.

Yet, as brilliantly deceptive as he was, Diana sensed his words were honest. Clark Kent was quite the paradox.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Diana offered with a smile. “You don’t need to study art to understand it. It’s really all about understanding yourself.”

“How so?”

“It’s simple. Great art touches our emotions. Understand how it makes you feel, then analyse why. Since it’s personal, there are no wrong answers.” She leaned a little closer, as if imparting a confidence. “It can make you appear very knowledgeable and sophisticated.”

Clark looked down at the prints. “Mostly I feel it's tragic these things are being sold off. Something so beautiful deserves to be seen, but these will end up hidden in some private collection.”

“That’s not always a bad thing,” Diana said, wondering how she could steer their conversation to more interesting territory. “Private collectors tend to be specialists and will treat what they buy with great respect. Private ownership doesn’t mean they are lost to the public, either. Most of my clients lend to museums and galleries. In fact, private ownership can mean a piece is available to more people than would see it on a permanent display.”

“I didn't realise," he says. "So you're here for a client?”

“I can’t discuss that with the press,” Diana said: truthful, if misleading. “But I’ll be happy to show you some of the best pieces for your story.”

Clark pushed his glasses back into place. “I’d be grateful for the help. I’ve been to auctions before, but not one like this.”

Diana moved them on to the next piece on display. “Until you get to the level where bids can be in the millions, auctions are all much the same. There are a few interesting items here, but nothing valuable enough to be worth headlines.”

He grinned suddenly, “So you’re saying I don’t have a story? What do you think are the interesting lots?”

“Those Japanese prints are probably the most valuable offering. If there are rival bidders they could fetch...” she considered for a moment, “...I would guess up to three hundred thousand, though that’s more than they are worth. There is an Art Deco collection that would be valuable to a collector. As for the rest, I really don’t know. My expertise is historical weaponry.”

Clark flipped through the pages of the catalogue. “I thought I saw a World War One lot. Yes, here it is.” He folded the pages back to show her. “An army uniform, including personal weapons, and other mementos of the war.”

Diana nodded, trying to hide her interest. “They are not rare items but there is a thriving market in war memorabilia and these have a documented history, which makes them more valuable. Most likely that lot will be bought by a dealer who will sell the items on individually.” Her eye fell on the medals displayed with the uniform. “This soldier was a brave man. That’s a medal of honour. A victory medal, too. He survived to the Armistice. Far too many didn’t.” She sighed. Why did people value mementos of such horror? The medals, yes, she understood the pride attached to those, but why hang on to a reminder of the trenches?

She might have asked the question aloud, so strong were her memories, but it was in that moment she heard a familiar voice from somewhere behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Kent. I’ve enjoyed talking with you.”

He frowned in concern. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. Good luck with your article.”

Diana hadn’t learned nearly enough to satisfy her curiosity about Clark Kent, but she had at least made a connection. Perhaps there would be a future opportunity. She walked across the room toward Bruce Wayne, not troubling to hide her irritation from him.

Bruce watched her approach with an appreciative gleam in his eye. He smiled a welcome. “It’s good to see you, Diana.”

“I’m tempted to suggest you are stalking me,” she answered coldly.

Bruce looked genuinely baffled. “I thought we were friends.”

“Do you guard the privacy of _all_ your friends so well?”

“Diana, I did apologise...”

She cut in, “No, you didn’t. You said the words, Bruce. You have to mean them for the apology to be real.”

Bruce took her arm and pulled her into the corridor. If they had been alone, Diana would have broken his arm before she let him manhandle her like that, but, conscious of the others around them, she permitted it to avoid drawing attention. When they had moved far enough to speak privately, Bruce released her. Diana rubbed at her arm; another woman would have been bruised by his grip.

“Diana, I _am_ sorry,” Bruce said, and despite his rough treatment of her Diana read sincerity in his eyes. “It’s not an excuse, but I...I have been deceived before. You’re very secretive and it made me suspicious. I wanted to be sure about you. I crossed a line and you have every right to be angry. I’m sorry.”

It was well said and Diana softened. “Thank you.”

“Will you allow me to make it up to you?” Bruce offered his hand.

“After the auction, perhaps. For now...” she placed her hand in his, “you can escort me like a gentleman.”

He stifled a chuckle. “Like a gentleman?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

Diana couldn’t help smiling. “Fake it, Mr Wayne.”

He laughed and led her into the auction room.

 

 

Diana waited for Bruce to sit and took the aisle seat beside him. He had chosen a seat near the back of the room and was searching the rows in front of them. Diana felt him tense when he located his target: an Asian-American woman who wore a Bluetooth device clipped to one ear. Bruce gave no indication of why he was interested in her.

The first time the woman he was watching placed a bid, Bruce leaned over and, speaking very quietly, asked Diana her opinion of the item on the block. She whispered back, giving him a quick assessment of its value. The woman’s winning bid was just below the figure Diana gave him.

The first real bidding war began over a set of letters that dated back to the Civil War. They were of little interest to Diana and when her phone vibrated in her purse she glanced quickly at the display. It wasn’t a call, but rather the news app with an alert. Diana scanned the headline quickly. She whispered an apology to Bruce, indicating the phone as if she had an urgent call. Then she rose from her seat and moved quickly to the back of the room. But she wasn’t looking for privacy. She was looking for Clark Kent.

She couldn’t talk to him in front of all these people, but there was another way. Diana put the phone to her ear as she reached the door and spoke so quietly no one could possibly hear.

“Kal-El,” she said, watching him.

Kent reacted as if she’d slapped him; his head jerked around, his eyes found her, then he belatedly tried to make the movement look natural.

“Kal-El, you are needed,” she said.

He was at her side almost at once. “How - ?”

Diana showed him the headline displayed on her phone. There was a fire at a stadium two states away, with thirty thousand people trapped inside. “We can talk later,” she said.

His eyes were hard flints behind the fake glasses. “We _will_ ,” he said firmly, but left quickly.

Diana waited a little longer then returned to her seat beside Bruce. She had butterflies in her stomach. That was not how she intended to reveal herself, but perhaps it was best. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She turned her phone off, just as the auctioneer called Lot 31: the collection of World War One memorabilia.

Diana let the first few bids go by before she raised her paddle to place her first bid. The woman Bruce was watching placed the next bid. Diana waited two more bids before placing her next. The Asian-American woman outbid her again. The bids had begun very low but before long the price was high enough to make Diana nervous. She could not afford to  let the collection fall into other hands, but her funds were limited. There was also the problem of drawing attention to how badly she wanted it. If she bid too high and then lost it...

She raised her paddle again. Now the bidding was over the resale value of the collection. It couldn’t go much higher. With a sinking heart she saw the other woman bid again. Diana followed with a fresh bid, and that was as high as she could afford to go. It was no surprise when she was immediately outbid.

The auctioneer’s eyes turned to her expectantly. Diana reluctantly shook her head.

Bruce raised his paddle, placing a bid.

“What are you doing?” Diana hissed as the other woman bid again.

“You want it, don’t you?” He signalled another bid.

Diana put her hand over his paddle. “Please don’t.” The only thing worse than losing the collection would be losing it to Bruce, even if his intention were to make a gift of it. He would be bound to examine what he bought and then...

Bruce was outbid again, and now the price was far more than any normal dealer or collector would pay. He looked at Diana, then signalled to the auctioneer that he was done bidding.

He called the lot one last time. “Going...sold.”

 

 

Outside the building where Diana now lived, she unlocked her seatbelt and reached for the door of Bruce’s car. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Join me for a late dinner?” Bruce offered.

“Not tonight,” she demurred.

“I think we should talk, Diana. I want to clear the air between us.”

She hesitated. “I would like that, Bruce, but not tonight. I'm tired.” And she was expecting company, but she could not tell Bruce that.

Bruce nodded, clearly not happy his famous charm was failing him. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She climbed out of his car with relief and hurried into the apartment building.

Diana needed to make a decision about her friendship with Bruce Wayne. When they first met it had been a harmless flirtation; he made no secret of his interest in her and once she became aware of his playboy reputation Diana let him know that she had no intention of becoming his latest tabloid girlfriend. Many men would have taken that as a challenge, but Bruce seemed to respect her for drawing the line clearly. That was the first of many contradictions in his character.

They continued to spend time together, not much and not frequently, but when they attended the same events they inevitably sought each other out, and she enjoyed sharing an occasional drink with him. He was an intelligent man, and good company.

Over time, she became aware that there was much more to Bruce than she initially suspected. He rarely let personal information slip. Another contradiction: when they talked about the poverty and crime in Gotham he showed real anger but didn't seem prepared to do anything, and a man of his wealth and influence might have done a great deal.

And Bruce had been sufficiently worried by Diana’s reluctance to discuss her own past to have her investigated. She would have been less angry if he wasn’t keeping so many secrets of his own. That was when she stopped returning his calls, at least for a time.

If she wanted to continue their friendship, she had to be willing to tell Bruce at least some of her secrets, because if she didn't he would never stop prying. She trusted Bruce, but could she trust him that much?

In her apartment, Diana slipped her feet out of the high heeled shoes and removed her jewellery. She turned on the television and did not even have to search for a report on the stadium fire: it was live news. The reporter on the scene was framed by the lights of emergency vehicles, but it was clear that the fire itself was out. She reported that though officials were unable to confirm it at this time, they were cautiously optimistic that with Superman’s help everyone was safely evacuated. Satisfied, Diana turned the sound down, but she still watched the footage of Superman appearing above the burning stadium then flying inside. There was a cut, and then shaky cell phone video of him inside, holding the structure up as flames surrounded him and people rushed to an exit that had been blocked a moment before.

When a flicker of red at the window caught her eye she saw him outside with no surprise. She rose and opened the balcony door.

“Have you told anyone?” Superman asked her. He landed lightly on the balcony and walked inside.

Diana was clumsy, revealing herself in the way she did, but she had always known that when the moment came, she would hide nothing from him. She gave silent thanks that he had asked the question in that way: asked if she had told his secret, not whether others knew it. She would be able to answer without lying.

So she met his eyes as if she didn’t see his fear of what she knew, and answered truthfully. “I have told no one and I never will without your consent. You have my word.”

He didn’t know her, so he had no reason to trust her word, but perhaps he had something of her ability to sense a lie because his frown relaxed. “Thank you. How did you know? What gave me away?”

Oh, that was a harder question. She couldn’t betray Bruce Wayne. But knowing his suspicion had only steered her toward Clark Kent. She hadn’t been sure Kent was Kal-El until they met face to face.

Diana said, “Those of us who wear an identity as a mask tend to recognise it in others. I am, like you, more than human. I have worn a costume to fight for others, as you do.”

It wasn’t what he expected to hear. She saw the surprise cross his face, followed by confusion. “You’re not... You can’t be...”

“From your world? No. I was born here on Earth. I am special, or different, because my people have abilities most humans lost centuries ago.”

The frown was back. “I don't understand. Who are you, really? _What_ are you?”

Diana crossed the room to the table and sat down. “My name is Diana Prince. Today, I am what you saw at the auction, just a woman. But a century ago, I fought in the Great War. Men had another name for me then. Wonder Woman.”

She saw his quick smile. “It’s no sillier than Superman, and it served the same purpose.”

He came closer to the table, but didn’t sit, though there was a chair he could have taken. “Why have I never heard about you? How much are you like me? What can you do? How...?”

Diana held out her hand in a _stop_ gesture. “Please, one question at a time!”

“I’m sorry, I just...I have a lot of questions.” He took a breath. “I spent years looking for others like me and never found anything. I would have remembered a name like Wonder Woman.”

“If you research the Great War, look for the stories told by the men returning home. You might find me that way, but no one believes those tales now. There’s no one left alive to testify to the truth of it.”

“When you talked about the war, I remember thinking you looked...like it meant more to you than artefacts in a museum.”

“It was a terrible war. I lost many friends.”

“Why are you here in Metropolis, Diana? Why now?”

“Because of you, of course.”

“I don't understand.”

“When Zod’s message was broadcast, no one knew anything about you. I retired as Wonder Woman a hundred years ago, but I believed I would be needed to join the fight against Zod. I thought I was the _only_ one who might be able to fight him. I was actually waiting for a flight to the USA when the news broadcast the battle in Metropolis. I didn’t know then what kind of person you are. You might have been every bit the threat Zod was. So I came.”

“You mean you came to kill me?”

Diana shook her head. “No, Kal, I came to observe. Yes, I thought it might be necessary to fight you, but I didn't come with that plan.”

“What about now? Do you still think I’m dangerous?”

That was a difficult question and Diana turned away to give herself a moment to think.

“You do.”

She looked back at him: the appearance of a handsome young man and all the power of a god. “Of course you are dangerous!” she pointed out. “The power you have will _always_ make you dangerous. Every day of your life you have to decide how you will use that power. The choices won’t always be easy, and from my perspective...you are very young. You won’t always make the right choices.”

“I’m trying to help people.”

“I know you are. Why do you think I told you about the fire tonight?”

“You could have handled it yourself, couldn’t you?”

Diana smiled. “No, the stadium was too far away and I can’t fly. Not without a plane, anyway. Besides, I haven’t done that kind of thing for...well, a long time.”

“You still want to help people. That’s why you risked telling me about the fire. You miss being able to act.”

“I do,” she admitted wryly.

“Then you should think about acting. There are a lot of people who need help.”

Diana bowed her head. “I was badly hurt in the war. Not physically. It was everyone I lost only to see the politicians betray everything we fought for... I suppose it’s cowardice, but I don’t know if I’m ready to risk that again.”

Superman sat down in the chair opposite her. He reached across the table for her hand. “You’re ready, but you’re still waiting for something. Don’t wait too long, Diana.”

She could feel the strength in his touch and couldn’t help wondering how well matched they might be. There was no question that he had powers she would never have, but on strength she might equal him. She wasn’t curious enough to test it, though. Not yet. Slowly, she withdrew her hand from under his.

“Can I ask you one more thing? Something personal?” He was frowning again.

Diana nodded. “You can ask me anything. I don’t promise an answer.”

“At the auction, the man you were with. You implied he was a stalker.”

It wasn’t a question, but Diana understood him. “That was a private conversation,” she said sternly.

“I know.” He didn’t apologise for listening.

She sighed. “If any man threatens me, believe me, I can take care of it myself. But Bruce hasn’t threatened me. He’s just being an ass.”

“I had to ask. Diana, I need to go, but can we talk again?”

“Of course.”

Left alone, Diana opened the closet and pulled out the trunk she had left, unopened, at the bottom. She lifted it easily onto the bed and deftly turned the dials on the combination locks. The clasps opened with twin snicks. She raised the lid and for a long time simply gazed at the costume within.

Superman spoke the truth: she did miss it. Diana lifted the lasso and ran its silky length through her fingers. Then she picked up one of the bracelets, the weight familiar in her hand.

A memory of running, not fast enough, knowing she wouldn’t make it in time. Of leaping forward, almost flying, her hand reaching out in desperation to deflect a bullet. Of feeling the impact in her wrist, hitting the floor, rolling, and looking up into blue eyes wide with shock.

She fitted the bracelet over her wrist. She had been ready to take back the mantle of Wonder Woman for a long time. All she needed was a reason.

 

 

#### Gotham City

 

“Left! Take the bridge.”

The Batmobile’s tyres squealed as he made the turn. His headlights illuminated a barrier that stretched across the road.

“The bridge that’s closed?” he yelped.

“It’s closed, not missing,” Alfred pointed out reasonably.

It was too late anyway. The car smashed through the barrier and Batman floored the gas launching the car into the air and over the detritus left behind by the work crew. The suspension bounced as the car hit the road.

“Shipyard or freight?” he demanded, adrenaline coursing through him. The police system had picked up the gunfire just as he did. They would not respond quickly to this part of Gotham, but they _would_ respond. Batman had to be there first.

“Freight,” Alfred said.

“Almost there. Get me a location.”

The freight yard was the border of no-man’s-land, a maze of steel shipping containers surrounded by the old warehouses from the days when Gotham’s port was a thriving centre of international trade. The only international trade coming through this part of the port in the current century was drugs, illegal weapons and slaves.

He steered through the narrow pathways between the containers. He had no need of directions here: one of those containers was his. A signal from the car opened it and he hit the brake. The car slid across the steel. Batman checked his gear and got out of the container, fast. It slammed closed, concealing the car.

Batman fired a grapple and flew upward, to land on the top of the stacked containers. He crouched at the edge and his cape pooled around him. “Which way?”

“To your left, five rows over.”

The gaps between the rows of containers were just wide enough to make the jump challenging, but it was nothing the Batman hadn't done many times before. He leapt over the first and used the momentum of the first jump to keep going. The second gap was wider and his foot slipped a little on the edge. For an instant he felt his balance go. He recovered quickly, swore, and kept going over the third gap and the next.

Gunfire exploded ahead of him and he heard screams. A throwing blade was in his hand as he sprang from the top of the container, turning in the air as he dropped so he would land facing the entrance.

Everything happened very fast.

The Batman took in the scene in an instant. At the back of the container was a cage and inside it were children, screaming. In the space outside the cage, there were three men. Two were down, at least one of them bleeding. The third was against the wall, sliding a fresh clip into a semi-automatic. And there was a woman, wearing a hooded cloak over some kind of costume, reaching for a rope that hung in loops on her hip. There was an honest-to-god brazier, like something from a medieval dungeon: a metal bowl on a stand filled with glowing coals; and a thing like a bed with chains attached to it. Lastly, a video camera on a tripod.

Fury filled him as the meaning of the scene crashed down on him. The Batman raised his hand, preparing to throw the batarang.

The man with the gun slammed the clip home and took aim at the woman. The Batman threw his blade. The woman moved, the man fired the gun. Children screamed. The woman moved in a blur. Sparks flew and bullets ricocheted off her.

How the hell?

Batman felt the impact of bullets on his armour. The woman’s momentum brought her into the path of his flying batarang.. It bounced off the metal at her wrist, just like the bullets. The blade landed in the brazier, sending out a shower of hot sparks. Children screamed.

Batman moved forward, intending to take down the gunman. The woman got in his way and flung the rope. It looped around the gunman. The gun clattered to the ground and the gunman stopped moving.

The whole thing took less than a second.

Batman caught his breath. He moved forward as the mystery woman jerked on her rope. She pulled the man toward that travesty of a bed. He moved without resistance until he stumbled, caught himself on the frame and sat.

She stepped toward him and pulled the rope tight, which pinned his arms to his sides. That wouldn’t hold him for long, Batman thought.

She pointed to the camera. “I want a full confession. Start with your name.”

Batman scoffed. Getting a confession from this kind of scum was never that easy. She had stunned him, but any moment now he would go for the fallen gun.

The woman, still holding the rope, moved behind the camera and turned it on. “Begin,” she ordered. The rope glowed with an eerie golden light.

And Batman watched, amazed, as her prisoner raised his eyes to the camera and started to talk.

That was a hell of a trick. The woman’s face was covered by her hood, but her voice...

He heard sirens. “Police,” he warned. He moved toward the man. He kept talking to the camera as if unaware of the movement behind him. Batman lifted one of the chains attached to the bed. It ended in a handcuff bracelet. While the man described the vile things he did to children, Batman snapped the handcuff around his wrist.

The sirens were getting close.

She did something with the rope and it fell away from the prisoner. Immediately he started to spew obscenities and tried to get up. Batman punched him, putting his whole weight behind the blow. The prisoner crumpled, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Before Batman could move, the woman was running out of the container.

“Wait!” Batman called after her.

She crouched, leaped upward, and was gone.

Her voice...

It couldn’t be...

But if it _was_...

The police would be on the scene in seconds. He had no time to consider alternatives. With a sweep of his hand, the Batman knocked the brazier to the ground. Red hot coals scattered across the floor and among them was his batarang, now glowing red. He picked it up, able to feel some of the heat even through his thick glove. He crossed the container in two strides and thrust the hot metal into the unconscious prisoner’s cheek. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

It was extreme, but that was the point. The cops would know this scene was his. As long as the woman wasn’t visible on the tape, they would never know anyone but the Batman had been here. He glanced at the coals on the floor, making sure there was no danger of the fire spreading. Then he strode out of the container just as the lights of the police cars rounded the corner. Behind him, the children were still screaming.

The Batman waited, a dark silhouette against the light inside the container. He heard more than saw the first cop get out of the car.

“It’s all yours,” the Batman said. “Check out his home videos. You’ll find all the evidence you need.” He flew upward, leaving the cops to do their job.

 

 

Diana slowed the car when she glimpsed the mansion ahead: she wanted a better look. The building was burned out and derelict, surrounded by fields of untended grass, but she could see its former elegance in the scorched remains, like a French chateau gone to seed.

“My family home,” Bruce said from the passenger seat beside her, and she heard the bitterness in his voice.

“What happened?”

“There was a fire about eight years ago.” Bruce frowned as he gazed at the manor. “I thought about rebuilding it, but for what? Wayne Manor was a family home. Living there alone was...like being a ghost. Follow the road around.”

Sensing he didn’t want to discuss the house, she obligingly accelerated. The road led through a thickly wooded area and then opened up to a wide parking lot with a covered car port and two garage doors. She steered under the car port and stopped.

An elderly man waited at the door. He approached Diana’s side of the car and opened her door for her. “Welcome, Miss Prince.”

“Alfred Pennyworth,” Bruce said as he climbed out of the car. “My butler.” He smiled at the older man. “Also foster father, teacher, and world’s greatest nag,” he said, with obvious affection.

It was the first time Diana had seen Bruce display such unguarded friendship for anyone. This man was important to Bruce, and his opinion of Diana would count for a great deal. She allowed Alfred to help her out of the car and thanked him politely.

“I didn’t expect you until later, Master Wayne. Will you and Miss Prince require dinner?”

Bruce glanced at Diana and for some reason he seemed nervous. “I hope so,” he answered. He led the way inside.

Diana knew when she saw the manor that the home Bruce referred to as “the cabin” would be far more palatial than she had pictured from his description. The cabin was a lake house, and quite magnificent. On the south side that overlooked the water was a single, huge open-plan room, walled in glass. She saw a comfortable lounge area with an entertainment centre, a dining table big enough to seat ten and a large bed set up against the window. Sleeping there would feel like you were lying on the lake itself and she was sure it would be a water bed. Outside, the lake was mirror-still, edged with rushes and trees, making the lake house utterly private.

“The bathroom is over there, Diana, if you want to freshen up,” Bruce suggested.

She didn’t need to, but took the hint. The bathroom held a tub easily big enough for two as well as a separate shower, and a floor-to-ceiling mirror. Diana checked her makeup and pulled the pins out of her hair, letting the dark waves fall loose around her shoulders. While she teased out the curls with her fingers, she listened for the reason Bruce had wanted her out of the way.

“I’m going to show her downstairs, Alfred,” Bruce said. His voice was quiet, and a normal human could not have heard him through the closed door.

“Master Wayne!” The old butler sounded shocked.

“It’s on me. You don't have to be involved.”

“That’s not a good idea, sir.”

“If I’m right about her, she already suspects something.”

“Suspicion is not proof, and what if you’re mistaken? There’s more at stake than just you.”

“It’s worth the risk, Alfred. Even if I’m wrong, I trust Diana. She might never speak to me again, but she’ll keep the secret.”

Diana warmed to those words; his trust mattered to her. She was also intrigued; she thought the invitation to his home had meant something very different, which was why she insisted on driving her own car. She put the hair pins away in her purse and walked out of the bathroom.

Bruce came toward her. He had removed his jacket and tie and his grey shirt was unbuttoned. It transformed him completely. She had never seen him so relaxed and understood that even this small thing was a glimpse of a very private man.

“Diana, there’s something I want to tell you. I, uh, well, you were right when you said I have secrets...”

She interrupted. “You’re entitled to keep your secrets, Bruce.”

“I want you to know. But I think it would be easier to show you.” He offered his arm. “Please?”

Diana linked her arm with his and he led her to what appeared to be a blank wall. At some signal she neither saw nor heard, the wall split open to reveal an elevator within. They stepped inside, the door silently closed and the elevator descended.

When the door opened again, Diana walked out into a cavernous space could only be below the lake. At first, she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. There were twenty or more screens above a console that looked like a plane’s control board. She saw all kinds of weapons in endless racks along one wall. There was a long workbench with electronic equipment in various states of assembly. And then she saw the black costume and halberd in a display case, words scrawled across the costume in yellow spray paint: _Ha ha jokes on you Batman._ She read the awful, taunting words, saw the shape of the mask. Finally, the pieces clicked together in her mind.

Diana turned to Bruce. “You are the Gotham Bat.”

All the contradictions she observed in him were suddenly explained. Now she understood his nervousness, and the butler’s objections to her seeing this. In showing her this place, Bruce was trusting her with his life, and perhaps with much more. Which could only mean he recognised her that night at the freight yard.

Bruce said simply, “Yes.” His body was very tense.

Diana moved away from him. “You use something to alter your voice. I didn’t recognise you.”

“Yes. That _was_ you at the port, wasn’t it?”

Knowing he trusted her, Diana could not lie to him. She nodded. “Yes.”

He visibly relaxed and Diana laughed. “You weren't sure?”

“About eighty percent. I know your voice, especially your accent, but I never saw your face. Diana, I thought Superman was the only one, but what you can do - ”

“Is very different,” she interrupted. “I’m not like him.”

She saw something darker in his eyes. “Do you know him?”

Diana knew Bruce was not a fan of Superman, but she answered honestly. She wouldn’t dissemble with him again. “I have met him. We talked. But I’m not connected or allied with him.”

“Will you tell me about yourself?”

She looked around the cave. She had so many questions! “Quid pro quo,” she agreed.

 

 

They talked for hours. Alfred served a wonderful meal and Bruce opened a bottle of vintage wine which they shared. The wine gave him a light buzz, but he felt no need for something stronger. He told Diana something of his past, what led him to take on the Batman identity. She told him about her past, and Bruce was glad of the emotional buffer the alcohol provided. If Diana claimed to be another alien like Superman, it would not have surprised him. To learn that she was something else opened a whole lot of other possibilities. She came from an island where there were others like her. She was human, or so she believed, but more than human. It made Bruce uneasy. She wasn't the first human with strange abilities he had come across, but the others were not good people. Just the opposite.

“The First World War?” Bruce shared the last of the wine between their glasses. “Diana, just how old are you?”

Diana lifted her glass, but didn’t drink from it. “That’s not a question a gentleman asks a lady,” she said primly.

Bruce grinned. “We’ve already established that I’m not a gentleman. And you’re no southern belle.”

“True,” she conceded. “Can we just say I’m older than I look?”

That made him even more curious, but he should let her have some secrets. After all, he wasn’t volunteering details of his own life, either. Some things were just...private.

“Alright,” he agreed, but then he frowned. “Wait. That lot you wanted at the auction was from that war. Was there something in the collection that’s important to you?”

Diana sipped her wine. “Yes,” she answered simply.

“Then why did you stop me bidding?”

“It was private. It’s not just a collection of war memorabilia, it was the property of a man I knew. Someone I fought beside. They weren’t pictured in the catalogue, but the pre auction display included some photographs taken the day of the Armistice.”

“A photo of you?” Bruce guessed and his heart sank. “And you didn’t want me to buy it because you were afraid I would see it.”

“I’m sorry - ” Diana began.

“Don’t apologise. I understand. But you might have a problem.”

“What problem?” It was Diana’s turn to frown.

“The woman who outbid you is Mercy Graves. She works for Lex Luthor.”

Diana looked interested, but not worried. “As in LexCorp? I thought he was dead.”

She didn’t understand how serious this was. “He is. Superman levelled LexCorp tower with him inside it. I’m talking about his son.”

“You’ll have to explain. Why are you so concerned, Bruce?”

He saw Alfred hovering and glanced at his watch. Past midnight. Where did the night go? Bruce beckoned Alfred over. “I’m not going out tonight, Alfred. You should turn in.”

Alfred picked up the empty wine bottle. “I’m glad to hear it, Master Wayne.” He added the bottle and the remains of their meal to a tray and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alfred was grumpy tonight. Bruce was used to his oldest friend commenting on his drinking, but half a bottle of wine wasn’t excessive. Nor was the late hour unusual; in fact they were rarely asleep much before dawn.

Bruce turned his attention back to Diana. “I wasn’t at the auction to see you. I was there because I knew Lex had sent Mercy to acquire something and I wanted to know what it was. You see, Lex has been spending _a lot_ of money trying to take control of the company. For him to spend so much on this auction, he had to want it very badly.”

“Is there any chance he’s just a big fan of war memorabilia?” Diana asked, without much hope.

“It’s unlikely. His father was the Al Capone of Metropolis. LexCorp is a legitimate business that he used to cover a whole lot of illegitimate.”

“And you think the son is the same?”

Bruce sighed, because it didn’t make sense that Lex could have taken over his father’s criminal empire so quickly. But how else could he be getting so much money? A trust fund was never _that_ generous. He answered as simply as he could. “I don’t know, Diana, but that’s what I’m afraid of. What I do know is he wanted that collection very badly.”

“He did pay far more than its value,” Diana agreed. “But how could he have known that collection held anything of interest?”

“I don’t know that either. But I’m going to find out.”

Diana nodded. “It’s getting late.” She rose gracefully to her feet. “I think I should go.”

Bruce walked with her to the door. “About the photographs. Don’t do anything stupid, will you? I can help.”

“I’m  not a thief,” Diana began, then apparently she reconsidered. “But perhaps I can learn. I’ll be grateful for your help.” Diana paused at the door and met his eyes. “Thank you for showing me who you really are,” she said.

Bruce had no idea how to respond. _You're welcome,_ seemed ridiculous and not entirely true. He was glad to have the air clear between them, but showing her his secret wasn’t a gesture of trust so much as a calculated risk: he had been almost certain she was the woman in the freight yard, and weighed his need to know for sure against the risk that Diana might betray him. Diana was not the type of woman who would betray a confidence.

“It’s a relief,” he admitted, “to have someone other than Alfred who knows...” and his voice faltered as he felt her warm fingers on his arm. What was wrong with him? Too much damn honesty, that's what. In dropping his mask for Diana, he had lost the easy confidence and charming phrases he could hide behind when playing the part of Bruce Wayne, billionaire.

“It’s not good to do something like this alone,” she said.

Bruce was too aware of how close they were standing. He could feel the warmth of her body. When he raised his hand to her waist, it was not entirely a voluntary movement: his body was moving a few steps ahead of his conscious mind the way it always did in a fight. Diana didn’t resist when he drew her body to his, but he saw her surprise. It was too late to stop himself. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

For an endless moment, Diana didn’t react. Then her lips parted under his and her hand slid up his arm to curl around his shoulder.

That instant of consent broke something inside Bruce and he moved them to the door, crushing her body against it, his lips hungry on hers. He genuinely hadn’t known how badly he wanted her. Diana was his friend, and he had convinced himself he was happy with her friendship and no more. Until that moment when she kissed him back. Diana held him, kept their bodies together, her tongue on his making his body heat. Oh, he wanted her! Their bodies fit together, her hips pressed to his so he knew she could feel how hard he was. He raised one hand to her thick hair, tangling his fingers in the waves and controlling the kiss.

And that was when she turned her head away and pushed against his chest with a force he was unprepared for. Bruce staggered back and almost lost his balance.

Diana reached behind her to open the door. “I’m sorry, Bruce,” she said with ice-queen dignity. She walked away from him.

Bruce let her go.

 

 

Diana could hear her own breathing, rapid and loud in the close confines of the car. She was shaking. She gripped the wheel with one hand but did not dare to start the engine. She couldn’t trust herself to drive.

Her fingers danced across her lips where the sense-memory of Bruce’s kiss still lingered. She closed her eyes and saw his face, his lips smeared with her lipstick, his eyes dark with desire. She remembered his hardness against her body, and her own answering longing.

But there were older memories, too, and although she had opened up to Bruce and he to her, although they exchanged truths and left the lies behind, that could not erase all of the lines between them.

Before, Bruce Wayne was an entertaining companion, a diversion she could enjoy and a way to get access the upper echelons of Gotham and Metropolis society. Before, she might  have been able to enjoy a night in his bed, knowing they could both walk away in the morning.

No more. Bruce changed all that by showing her the truth of him. Now he was a man worthy of her. A warrior. A man she might love.

But Bruce was also mortal and Diana was not. She looked half his age now; and she would appear this young for the next thousand years. He would age. He would weaken. In so little time as measured against her own lifespan, he would die.

Diana blinked the tears from her eyes, started the engine and fled, as she had a hundred years before, from pain.

 

 

Bruce heard the car engine rev and the tyres squeal on his driveway.

He curled his hand into a tight fist. What was he thinking? His fist hit the wall and the panel cracked. What was wrong with him?

His eyes fell on the cracked wall and he found enough restraint to take himself down to the cave. In the cave he could work off this rage without destroying his home.

Bruce took on the heaviest punching bag. He didn’t bother with gloves.

Punch! The impact shuddered up his whole arm.

He knew Diana didn’t want that kind of relationship with him. He _knew_ it! So why had he kissed her?

Punch! with his left. The bag swung and his knuckles smarted.

He just couldn’t keep his mind out of his pants, could he?

Punch! The skin over his right fist split. A smear of blood appeared on the leather.

Punch! Punch! Punch! Pain exploded in his torn hand and his fist slipped in the blood as the bag swung back and forth under the assault.

But she kissed him back! He hadn't imagined that. She wanted him.

He caught the bag as it swung back and hung on to it, breathing hard. He stared at the streaks of his own blood.

Why did she leave?

What had he done wrong?

 

 

#### Metropolis

The small piece of rock glowed green with some light of its own. Lex watched it through the glass of the display case. The light pulsed faintly, almost as if the stone were alive. Fascinating.

“We can’t identify it,” Doctor Emmet said bluntly. "The GC mass. spec. identified traces of known elements on the outside, but the rock itself is not known.”

“Not on Earth, you mean,” Lex concluded. “It’s alien. Is it dangerous?”

“Potentially, yes.”

Lex huffed impatiently. “Potentially? What does that mean, potentially? I want facts, Emmet. Facts, facts, facts!”

Doctor Emmet touched a control panel and a lead cover slid over the display case. “The element is in a state of radioactive decay. If we were talking about plutonium, for example, that would mean yes, it’s dangerous. Eukaryotic cells exposed to it become damaged.”

“Yes! Radiation sickness is bad.” Lex glared at the doctor. “Skip to the part I don’t know.”

“Well, we took a few chips from the rock for testing. We exposed lab mice to the radiation and so far we haven't observed any deleterious effects. It's emitting radiation, but apparently not of a type that’s harmful to us. But we can only say that with confidence about short term exposure. If you hung that thing around your neck and wore it for a few years...well, that could be really bad for you.”

Safe for humans. Maybe not so safe for aliens. It was very interesting news.

“I don’t plan to wear it as a necklace,” Lex said blandly. “Green just isn’t my colour. How long until you can tell me about more than short term effects? And on people, not mice.”

Emmet adjusted her lab coat nervously. “That’s difficult to say, sir. I can increase the intensity of exposure for the mice, but a study of long-term effects by definition requires time.”

“Yes, yes,” Lex gestured dismissively. “If this element is of alien origin how do you suppose it would affect alien cells?”

She frowned. “Impossible to say. Unless you know where I can find alien mice, I’m not sure how - ”

Lex cut in. “What happened to the body of General Zod? He’s an alien.”

Her eyes went wide. “I...I have no idea.”

“Doctor, when you called me you said you had some exciting information to share. I strongly recommend you look those words up in a dictionary. So far you have been neither exciting nor informative.”

“I...”

“If you had access to the alien remains, could you determine whether this form of radiation would be harmful to Kryptonians?”

Doctor Emmet finally figured out that he expected actual science. “Yes, sir. I can.”

“Good. Then I will arrange it. How much more of this rock do we have?”

“This is the only sample, Mr Luthor, except the small chips I removed for testing. If it came from the Kryptonian ship, there might not be any more.”

“Hm. Zod’s ship is gone but there are two others. I’ll have to get people on that, too.” Lex turned to leave. “I want those results by the end of the month, Doctor.”

“Of course, sir.”

He sighed as he left the lab. Amateurs. He would just have to do it himself.

 

 

Clark was only half listening to the news report as he made breakfast for Lois and himself. The Gotham vigilante they called the Bat brutalised the leaders of a paedophile ring. One died of his injuries before he reached hospital. Another was seriously injured. The third had been knocked unconscious and his face branded with the symbol of the Bat. Six children with ages ranging from three to twelve, had been rescued.

Clark wasn’t likely to weep over a gang of child rapists, but vigilante justice offended him deeply. Those men should have been arrested and brought to trial. Not been beaten and branded.

He carried both breakfast plates to the table. “Lois, what’s the deal with this Bat character?” he asked, but the look on her face drove the news report out of his thoughts.

Lois was holding a letter in her hand. “The senate is going to hold hearings about Zod’s invasion,” Lois said, looking up as Clark slid a plate in front of her.

Clark set his own plate down, went back for the juice and poured two glasses.

“That makes sense,” he commented. “A lot of people still don’t understand what happened. Getting it out in the open might help.”

“They want me to testify - next week. It’s not much time to prepare.”

Clark nodded. “You were the only human who went aboard Zod’s ship. No one else can testify to what happened there.”

Lois tossed the letter down and picked up a fork. “Yes, but...Clark, how much am I supposed to say?”

He saw what was worrying her. “You’re a journalist, and you have a right to protect your sources. If they get too close, use that.”

She gathered some scrambled egg onto her fork. “That’s a pretty fine line to walk.”

“Talk to Perry. He’ll get you legal help. And I can go with you.”

Her fork clattered to the table. “No, you can’t! Superman was such a huge part of it, Clark, you can’t let other people control your side of the story. We’ve worked too hard to make Superman a hero.”

He frowned, wondering how exactly anyone could call him to testify. Clark Kent wasn’t involved with what happened. “They can’t send Superman a summons in the mail.” he pointed out calmly.

“They’ll come up with something. And if they don’t, Superman still has to be there.”

She pushed the letter toward him across the table. “Once this becomes public, you’ll see statements from a lot of people. Oh, hell. I need to call this into the _Planet_. It’s too late for the morning edition but we can get it on the website.” She rushed for her phone.

Clark picked up the letter and read it quickly.

It was not a subpoena. It was a letter from General Swanwick warning Lois to expect one. An email would have been faster, so his use of the regular mail both stressed the gravity of the situation and - possibly - suggested he didn’t want his letter intercepted, as was all too easy with email. In the letter, the General explained that he had strongly opposed the hearings but had now been overruled. He had, however, succeeded in securing closed doors for at least part of the investigation, to protect “certain information” vital to national security. Most of the hearings would still be public sessions.

Reading between the lines, Clark hoped that the battle in Smallville was part of the information the General was working to suppress. He had kept it quiet so far: he had ensured generous government funding was available to rebuild the town, on condition that no one speak to the press. He told Lois he had done it to minimise panic, saying that if people thought Metropolis was the only city the aliens attacked, it would be easier to contain. Given how hard he tried to track Superman, Clark wasn't so sure that was the general’s real reason. However, if Swanwick knew Clark’s identity he was keeping it to himself.

“You have to take a leap of faith,” Father Leone had told him. “Trust comes later.” Words to remember.

General Swanwick had earned Clark’s trust. He was doing so again, by giving Lois this heads-up.

 

 

News of the Senate hearings hit the offices of the _Daily Planet_ like a hurricane.

By the time Clark and Lois reached the office, the exclusive, breaking news was live on the _Planet_ ’s web site. Senator Finch had been contacted, confirmed the story and provided a statement. Perry scrapped his tentative plans for the next issue and had roughed out a new layout focussed on the hearings. He wanted reactions from the key leaders of Metropolis, from people on the streets, from military leaders and godammit from Superman himself! He wanted legal analysis on what might happen, he wanted retrospectives on the incident, he wanted facts and numbers.

“Lane, you’ll be there, but as a witness. I still want your perspective but make it personal.”

Lois got that stubborn look in her eyes. “Perry, no one knows this story better than I do.”

“Because you’re involved,” Perry pointed out. “We need someone objective on the main story.” He looked around the conference table. “Anyone. Kent?”

It was a huge offer and Clark should have jumped at the opportunity to get his byline on the front page. He shook his head with a show of reluctance. “I’ve been on the Heroes’ Park story. I really want to follow through and the opening is next week.”

Perry’s eyebrows shot up and Clark knew it was a weak excuse. He held the editor’s gaze for a moment, then looked down, adjusting his glasses.

Perry sighed. “Alright. Lombard?”

“Love to,” Steve Lombard answered instantly. “Should be fun, eh, Lois?”

She rolled her eyes. “Separate rooms. Separate _hotels_ , if possible.”

“Separate rooms,” Perry confirmed without missing a beat. “Lois, plan to stay in Washington until the hearings are over.”

She glanced at Clark across the table. “I will.”

 

 

“I wish I were coming with you.” Clark, holding Lois in his arms.

“So do I,” she said. She lifted her face for a kiss, ignoring Lombard waiting impatiently at the departure gate.

Clark kissed her, slow and lingering. “I’ll see you tonight, Lo,” he whispered against her cheek.

Lois drew back, just a little. “No, tonight I’m going to be busy. I’ve got to track down my contacts on Capitol Hill and figure out what I’m going to say...”

“And I’d be a distraction,” Clark concluded, disappointed but understanding. “Tomorrow night, then?”

“I’ll look forward to it,” she said, reaching up to kiss him once more, a quick touch of her lips to his.

Clark handed over her hand luggage and pushed his glasses back into place. “If you need me...” he said, raising a hand to his ear to mimic making a phone call.

Lois smiled, the wide, beautiful smile that told him she understood all the layers under the words. She said nothing more but turned and walked through the gate.

 

 

Designed by a local architect and built on the site of downtown Metropolis that was levelled by Zod’s world engine, the new Heroes’ Park was described as both a memorial for the dead and a celebration of the city’s regeneration.

The world engine would have reshaped the entire planet, but it began by pounding the buildings beneath it into rubble. To prevent global disaster, the US military, helped by Superman, flew the engine of the ship that brought Clark to Earth into Zod’s ship, creating a singularity that pulled everything - ship, buildings and people - into the Phantom Zone. What it left behind was a large, empty space: a blank slate to build upon. Instead of rebuilding those skyscrapers, the city authorities chose to transform the site into a public space.

All this, Clark knew. Everyone in Metropolis knew, and Clark had seen something of the construction from the air. But this was to be his first look at the park as others would experience it.

Accompanied by Jimmy Olsen, the _Planet’s_ star photographer, he walked through the tall wood barrier that marked off the construction site. The space was dominated by the huge statue of Superman, posed down on one knee as if he had just dropped from the sky, one hand reaching out as if to offer help, the other stretching to the sky above. They had the details of his costume right: the texture of the alien cloth, the detail of the wrists and boots were all perfectly rendered in stone. But the face, Clark was relieved to see, looked nothing like him.

He heard the click of Jimmy’s camera beside him and tore his gaze from the statue to examine the rest of the park.

It was a green space with paths cutting through the neat beds of grass like the spokes of a wheel. In the centre stood a granite foundation for the statue. On one side the granite sloped gently; on the other it was built into steps, so the space would be fully accessible. The statue itself was flanked by a semi-circular wall, curved like a ribbon, which bore the names of everyone who died that day.

Clark walked through the shade of the statue to the wall. He took his time reading the names. Though each name was carved in neat, precise letters into the granite, they were only names, with nothing to indicate who they were, no ages, or hints of families, no way to know which of them were at work and who were just visitors on the unluckiest day of their lives. But Clark knew that behind every name was a life, and a story. There were so many, he couldn’t read them all.

He found a name he recognised: Colonel Nathan Hardy. He reached out and touched the neatly etched letters, remembering. _This man is not our enemy._ With a sudden burst of inspiration, Clark knew the article he was going to write to commemorate the opening. That the colonel's name appeared on the wall was testimony to the diligence of whomever put this together, because that name wouldn't have been on any public list of bodies identified or citizens still missing. In a very real sense, Colonel Hardy was the man who saved Metropolis, far more so than Clark himself. He didn’t know how to include that detail in his story without revealing how he knew it, but he could honour the colonel as he deserved.

He watched Jimmy photographing the park and its statue. Clark used his phone to take some shots of the memorial wall, close-up images to capture the names. He asked Jimmy to do the same and briefly explained what he hoped to do with them.

Satisfied, Clark headed back to the _Daily Planet_ to research and write his story.

 

 

“Clark, the files you wanted are on your drive now,” Jenny called from her desk.

He leaned back in his chair so he could see her. “Thanks, Jenny.”

The television screens that lined the far end of the room suddenly filled with the face of Senator Finch. Clark turned back to his computer screen as if what she had to say meant nothing to him, but he focussed his hearing on the screens.

“...to an understanding of the events that caused so many deaths. In this country we do not compile evidence to support a predetermined conclusion. We examine all of the evidence and hear from everyone involved. To that end, I appeal to Superman to appear before this committee. The American people have a right to know what happened and there are things only he can tell us. Superman has told us that he respects our constitution. I ask him to show that respect to Congress and the Senate. We will be waiting. Thank you.”

Clark drew in a deep breath. _You were right, Lois. She found a way._ With that very public appeal, the senator had backed him into a corner. If Superman failed to respond, the committee would see that as a sign of culpability. If he did show up, he would have to go along with this whole process: testify in public and under oath. In theory, Clark had no problem with that.  In practice, it would be difficult to keep secret the things he had to keep secret and not look like he was lying.

He reached for the phone and dialled Lois’ cell.

“Clark?” She answered.

It was so good to hear her voice. “Can you talk?” He kept his voice low.

“Yes, I’m in my hotel room. I just saw the broadcast.”

“So did I.” He couldn't say much more with so many people around him.

“Word is Senator Finch is tough but fair. She’s big on transparency and truth. I don’t think she’s out to railroad Superman.”

“She’s not the only person involved in this, though. If it was only about finding the truth they would have held these hearings months ago. There must be something else behind it.”

“Or someone else, you mean?”

“It’s what I’m worried about.”

“Want me to dig around?”

“Yes, but there isn’t time. Lois, what do you think...?” he hesitated, but there was no one close enough to overhear. “What should I do?”

“I think Superman has to appear. For what it’s worth, General Swanwick is just as concerned about containing information about Superman. His reasons are different but I think he’ll help.”

“He already has,” Clark said. “Thanks, Lois. I’ll see you...when I see you.”

 

 

#### Gotham City

“I hate to bring this up, but there’s a good chance Lex has already scanned and digitised those photographs,” Alfred said.

Bruce had invited Diana into his cavern to go over their plans. He hadn’t mentioned the kiss they shared or her abrupt departure but he was trying a bit too hard to behave normally. Diana knew she had hurt him: his feelings as well as his ego, but she didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t apologise for leaving because the apology would be hollow. She didn’t want to lose his friendship.

“I don’t think that matters,” Diana answered. “A digital image from 1918 cannot possibly be authenticated. It’s too easy to alter a digital picture. As long as Luthor doesn’t have the original it can’t be used against me.” She looked at Bruce. “Besides, I want the photograph. It’s a memory.”

“I can understand that,” Bruce agreed. He brought up the display. “We can get into the building easily enough but it’s going to take some time to find the photographs once we’re inside. Our best window will be when Lex isn’t home.”

“He will be in Washington for Senator Finch’s hearings,” Alfred volunteered.

Bruce nodded. “The trouble is, so will I. I have to be at the opening sessions and likely one or two days after that.” He looked at the floor plan displayed on his screen. “If we have the jet standing by and I leave as soon as I can, I could be back before dark. Lex will probably stay in Washington.”

“I’ve analysed the surveillance, sir.” Alfred took a seat at the console, his hands moving across the controls with practiced ease. “Young Lex spends a lot of time in his father’s study, here.” The display changed to a wireframe image of the mansion with the room in question highlighted. “That’s the most likely place. There’s also his bedroom, here...” A second room lit up. “...and what appears to be some kind of panic room.”

The plan of the house might be obtained legitimately, Diana knew, but this was too much. “You have surveillance inside Luthor’s home?”

Bruce glanced at her sideways. “It’s not quite what you think.”

“Really? Because it looks like you’ve been planning this heist for a long time.”

“Oh, no. This has been in place for a couple of years. I was watching his father. Luthor was behind a lot of the organised crime in Gotham. I knew it for years, but proving it was more difficult. I had a DA willing to to take the case, but the evidence had to be airtight, no way for him to buy his way out or push suspicion onto someone else.”

“But you never did press charges?”

“No, he died before I finished compiling the evidence, but that’s why I’ve got surveillance cameras and mics all around the house. The system here has been recording all this time but I haven’t been watching. Until now.”

Diana accepted the explanation, but she wasn’t thrilled that Bruce could so casually spy on someone else. The crime boss, perhaps, but there must have been plenty of opportunity for Bruce to disable all this since his death. The son hadn’t done anything to justify this invasion of privacy. It was a side of Bruce she didn’t like, and that it was now working to her benefit made her uncomfortable.

She focussed on the display, pushing her misgivings aside. “How do we get into the building?”

“By air,” Bruce told her. “That’s the easy part. What we need to figure out is how to find the photographs before Lex’s security finds us.”

“It will be quickest to split up once we’re inside,” Diana suggested.

“I agree. We can stay in contact on comms, and Alfred can direct us.” Bruce pointed to the screen. “Alfred, if you drop us here...”

 

 

Metropolis: City of Heroes

By Clark Kent

 

The atmosphere at the dedication of Metropolis’s Heroes Park was the strangest I have experienced. People were both happy and sad, excited and somber. The day was both a memorial for our many dead and a celebration of our resilience.

Metropolis will not forget those who died. A wall now bears their names for all to see. Many of us continue to mourn and many who attended today’s ceremony brought with them flowers, candles and other small gifts for the dead. The ground around the memorial wall is thick with them, a garden built in hours atop the rock.

Before this wall stands the statue of our new hero, Superman. At first sight, the statue overshadows the memorial, and some will no doubt feel it is wrong to place the hero above the remembrance. But to feel this way is to miss the context. This statue of a hero Metropolis has claimed as our own stands for more than just one man, no matter how remarkable. In Heroes’ Park, Superman stands for all the heroes of that terrible day.

Before the ceremony, I spent some time at the memorial wall, reading the names of the dead engraved there. The human loss represented in stone is heartbreaking. But there are also some remarkable stories behind the names, and Superman was far from the only hero in Metropolis that day.

Mary Tan worked in the coffee shop beneath the Metropolis Transport Authority. Everyone who bought their coffee there will remember her, even if they never knew her name. She was always friendly and ready to share a smile or a joke. Her many friends in Metropolis may not know that on the day she died, Mary opened the basement to her customers and directed them into the old metro tunnels. She saved the lives of more than a hundred people and her name is on the memorial wall because, as the MTA building fell, she was still trying to usher people to safety.

William Kant was a creature of habit. At lunchtime, whatever the weather, Bill bought a sandwich from the street vendor at the harbour gate and would walk around the quays watching the boats while he ate. Most of the boats in that part of the harbour are privately owned and a few are people’s homes. Bill was a familiar sight to the boat owners and he died helping them to escape after an alien ship appeared in their sky.

Nathan Hardy had never visited Metropolis before the day he died here. His name is honoured on the wall alongside those of our lost citizens. A decorated war hero, Colonel Hardy commanded the mission that ultimately saved the city. He gave his life on that mission. While the details may never be known, Colonel Hardy and his team deserve to be honoured for their sacrifice. Everyone in Metropolis who survived that day owes them their lives.

There are other heroes from that day, more stories than I can possibly tell. In Heroes’ Park we mourn those who lost their lives and we honour each and every hero who helped ensure that list of the dead was not longer.

 

 

#### Washington DC

A huge crowd had gathered outside the Capitol. Behind the barrier men and women waved banners bearing legends that ran the gamut from “We love you Superman” to “Aliens are not welcome in America”.

Lois pushed her way through the crowd to the gate. When asked for ID she showed her press credentials without thinking about it, and the guard tried to direct her to the press cordon.

“Oh, no, I’m Lois Lane. I’ve been called to testify.” She waited while he checked his list.

“Lane...yes. Go ahead, Ms Lane.”

She had to walk past the press and as she got close she could see a correspondent wielding a microphone and speaking excitedly to a camera.

“...and of course the question on everyone’s lips this morning is will Superman make an appearance?” She saw Lois and pounced. “Lois Lane! Carrie Birmingham, HLN. Will Superman be here today?” She shoved the microphone at Lois.

Lois stopped walking. “I’m sure Superman got Senator Finch’s message. Whether he will come, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Have you seen Superman? Have you talked to him?” Carrie demanded, determined to get more than a two-second soundbite.

“Not for some time,” Lois answered. That was vague enough to be true. “Please excuse me: I don’t want to be late.” She hurried onward, up the Capitol steps.

She knew she would have to go through security and was prepared for it, but it seemed to her the checks were more thorough than usual. She was still waiting for her purse even though it was almost empty when she caught sight of General Swanwick. She raised her hand, hoping to get his attention. He saw her and waited.

Lois retrieved her purse and walked quickly toward the general.

“Miss Lane, it’s good to see you again.”

Lois smiled. “Thanks for the letter. And congratulations. I just heard about your nomination.” Secretary of Defence, though nothing had been announced yet. After the role he played in the invasion, it was almost certain the Senate would confirm his nomination.

Swanwick raised an eyebrow. “That’s not official yet,” he pointed out.

“I know,” she grinned.

“Can I ask you...?” he began.

Lois knew what he wanted to ask. “He’ll be here,” she answered quickly, careful not to name Superman since they were in a crowded corridor. “He wants to be seen to cooperate but he’s worried about what he might be asked. He has a family to protect.”

Swanwick’s expression turned grim. “Yes, I’m aware of that. I’ve explained our position to - ” He broke off as a young man in uniform approached. Lois checked out the gold bar on his shoulder: lieutenant.

“General, they’re waiting for you,” the lieutenant said, coming to attention.

“Yes, of course,” Swanwick said. “Good catching up with you, Ms Lane.”

Left alone, Lois continued on her way to the room where the hearings were to be held. There were a lot of people headed to the same place. She saw Lex Luthor, accompanied by his bodyguard and an older man with grey hair and glasses.

For a moment, Lois hesitated. Should she approach him? An interview with Lex Luthor would be quite the scoop: he had avoided the press since his father died. She shouldn’t waste the opportunity. On the other hand, she was here as a witness, not as a journalist. She would write about the hearings - just try to stop her! - but it would be a personal perspective, not objective journalism. Perry had been right about that. She needed to focus on what she was going to say to the committee. It was going to be very difficult to be truthful without revealing too much about Clark. Reluctantly, she decided to leave Lex Luthor alone...this time.

She passed him, walking quickly.

“Lois Lane!” Luthor called after her. His voice was oddly high-pitched.

Lois turned to see him walking toward her, flanked by his bodyguard: an Asian American woman Lois had seen before, but whom she knew nothing about.

Lois composed herself quickly, offering a professional smile. “Mr Luthor.”

“Oh, Lex, please. People call me mister, I still look around for my daddy.” He grasped both of her shoulders as if holding her at arm’s length. “The woman who brought Superman to Metropolis. I am so happy to meet you.”

His touch made her uncomfortable and she fought an impulse to squirm away.

“Satisfy my curiosity, Lois. Are you and Superman still in touch?” Lex asked. “I did so enjoy your profile of him.”

Lois had “interviewed” Superman for the series of articles that introduced him to the world. The articles made it sound like a series of formal interviews but of course the reality was very different. She and Clark worked hard on those articles together, trying to explain Superman, his origins and his powers, his intentions and desire to help, without revealing too much. It was honest journalism, but consciously spun to give a positive impression of Superman in those early days when no one quite knew what to make of the man who could fly, whose appearance coincided with such devastation.

“No, not really,” Lois answered. “I’ve spoken with him occasionally, but I can’t say we’re in contact.”

Lex looked at her with narrowed eyes. “I wonder...” he mused. Without asking permission, he linked his arm with hers and continued to walk down the corridor, forcing her to walk with him. “Would you consider writing a feature or two about me, Lois? I’ve been thinking it’s time to introduce the new CEO of LexCorp to the world.”

“You’re not CEO, yet,” Lois pointed out, then thought better of it. She let her eyes go wide, a faux-innocent look that usually worked with men. “Are you?”

His eyes had gone hard. He didn’t like her contradicting him. “Very soon, Ms Lane, very soon. What do you say? An interview? I’m an open book.”

Lois’s head was spinning. Perry would _kill_ her if she turned him down, but he made her skin crawl and Lois had learned to trust her instincts about people. Still, the opportunity to get to the bottom of some of the rumours flying about him, to learn who this man really was...

“I’d like that, Lex,” she said.

“Excellent!” He squeezed her arm before - finally - letting her go. “I will have my people call you and set it up. You can visit me at home.”

There was no way in hell she was going to be alone with him in his own home, but they were almost at the door so Lois answered, “Sounds good. I’ll look forward to it.”

As she walked through the doorway to the large, ornate room where the hearing was to begin, Lois heard the sonic boom that signalled Superman’s arrival. She looked up, though of course she couldn’t see through the ceiling, and she smiled.

 

 

Superman hovered above the Capitol just long enough to be sure those waiting below noticed him. It was more than enough time for him to take in the banners and shouts from below. He looked for the cameras and landed nearby.

Immediately the air was full of shouted questions. He paid no attention but sought out the camera for a national channel and chose that to make his statement.

“I’m here because I was asked to come,” he said to the camera. “I know there are questions about what happened six months ago in Metropolis and I hope I will be able to provide answers. I have no further comment before the hearing, but once this process is over I will be happy to hold a press conference and answer whatever questions you have. Thank you for your patience until then.”

He turned and walked up the steps, as ordinary as it was possible to be in a bright red cape.

 

 

He actually came, Bruce thought, passing the red-caped figure as he took his place on the witness stand. He had pushed hard for these hearings and the outcome mattered to him a great deal, but on this day his schedule was very tight and they were running late.

The committee had caved in to General Swanwick’s insistence that key parts of the hearing be held behind closed doors. As a result, the opening session was delayed while the details were negotiated and the next day’s hearing would be closed. Bruce would not be able to attend unless invited.

Bruce sent a pre-arranged text message to Alfred, relieved that he had a cell signal. He turned the phone to vibrate and set it on the table as he took his seat.

After the usual preliminaries, Senator Finch asked Bruce for his statement about the events in Metropolis. Bruce did not look at Superman while he spoke. Instead, he kept his eyes on the senator or on the cameras as he begins his story. He explained that he was expected at a meeting in the Wayne Financial building and was en route by helicopter when he first saw the alien ship. He described his drive toward the office through streets filled with increasingly panicked citizens and how he was forced to abandon the Jeep a few blocks from his destination to continue on foot.

“...and as I got my first sight of the tower I saw...light streaking through the building, maybe the fourth or fifth floor. It was bright like burning magnesium and lasted maybe three seconds. I didn’t realise at first what had happened. Then I heard this sound, I can’t even describe it. It was the steel in the building coming apart. The tower just...”

Bruce’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it quickly to confirm it was Alfred calling, then swiped the screen to reject the call.

“I’m sorry.” He made a show of embarrassment before picking up his story. “The top of the tower just slid off, like a tree sawn in two. There was a little girl standing right underneath. I hadn’t seen her before. I was close enough to pull her to safety...” He scoffed, reconsidering the word. “Well, out of immediate danger, anyway. The noise was incredible and I thought we were all going to die. The building just fell to pieces. When the dust cleared, most of the tower was gone. I was still holding that little girl. I remember asking her where her parents were. She pointed up, to where my building used to be.”

Bruce took a deep breath and his phone buzzed again. He swiped the screen again. “I looked up where she pointed and that’s when I saw them: Superman and Zod, though at the time I had no idea what I was seeing. Two men flying through the air, and then through the wall of another building. I thought I was seeing things, it was insane.”

For the first time, Bruce looked at Superman. “We’ve been told that what I saw was a battle to the death, that Superman fought to defend us against Zod. All I can say is what I saw didn’t seem that way. I think I can speak for everyone on the ground with me when I say we didn't feel defended.” His phone buzzed a third time and this time he let it repeat twice before he swiped to stop it. “My apologies, Senator, but this seems like an urgent call. Could I please take a moment to find out what’s happening?” This was a gamble. Bruce thought the Senator would go along but he wasn’t certain. It was a breach of protocol to even have a phone in the chamber, but a billionaire can get away with a lot. That didn’t mean Senator Finch wouldn’t punish him for it.

Finch made him wait while she conferred with her colleagues. Finally, she switched her mic back on. “We’ll take a short recess. Fifteen minutes, Mr Wayne, but you will turn your phone _off_ when we reconvene or it will be taken from you.”

She sounded like a schoolteacher. Bruce nodded. “Of course, Senator. Again, I apologise.”

Bruce didn’t actually need to return the call; the interruption was a planned strategy. He made a show of it because there was bound to be someone watching him. While he pretended to speak to someone on the phone, his eyes searched for the Senator. She had probably taken advantage of the break to freshen up. When he saw her heading back to the chamber he pocketed the phone and walked quickly to intercept her.

She saw him coming and her mouth settled into a hard line. She wasn’t happy with him. No surprise there.

“Are you done, Mr Wayne?”

“I really am sorry,” he said again. “I told my people not to contact me for anything less than the sky falling.”

“And _is_ the sky falling?” she asked archly.

Perfect. “There is a crisis and they were right to call me,” Bruce lied, “but what’s happening here is more important. Senator, I’m willing to stay and answer any questions you have but I would consider it a great favour if I could leave soon to deal with things at my company. I can return tomorrow. Or another day.”

He watched her consider his words. She wanted to refuse, retribution for his rudeness in letting the call, however important, interrupt her hearing. But Senator Finch was politician enough to recognise the value of having the CEO of Wayne Enterprises owe her a favour. Eventually she nodded. “I only have a few questions for you. I think we can dispose of them quickly.”

Bruce gave her his most charming smile. “I owe you one.”

Her look told him she planned to collect, but she said nothing more.

Bruce sent Alfred a text to confirm the plan was on, turned his phone off and returned to the chamber.

 

 

#### Gotham City

Bruce had seen Diana in her Wonder Woman persona before, that night in the freight yard, but seeing her like this in the bright lights of his cave was very different. This time she wasn’t trying to hide, and yet he wasn’t certain he would recognise her if he didn’t already know this was the woman he knew.

The widow’s peak band she wore across her forehead subtly changed the shape of her face and her hair was loose. Her shoulders and upper arms were bare and her forearms covered from wrist to elbow with leather covered by bracelets of a metal Bruce couldn’t identify. Her leather bodice was tight enough to distract any man’s attention from her face and its lower half was a gladiator-style skirt. She wore armoured boots that came up over her knees and although the boots were practically low, not high-heeled, the whole effect somehow made Diana seem taller. The lasso he saw her use in the freight yard hung at her side, but she carried no other offensive weapons. As Bruce watched, she shook out her hooded cape and flung it over her shoulders. It was made of a heavy material and textured to look almost like feathers.

It was a surprisingly effective disguise.

Bruce pulled the Bat helmet on over his head, completing his own transformation into the Batman. He offered Diana a communication device: a microphone that fitted invisibly into the ear.

“The three of us can stay in contact using these. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but no names on comms. It’s very unlikely this channel could be intercepted, but it’s not impossible.”

Diana fitted the device into her ear. “Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Batman agreed. Her voice sounded the same and her accent, a mix of French and something else European, was distinctive. That would give her away.

He looked at Alfred, who nodded to confirm the comm circuit was working.

“Let’s go,” Batman said.

Batman’s plane was designed for two, but it was a long time since he had flown with a passenger. Memories of Jason crowded him as he went through the preflight routine. A smart-mouthed kid with so much potential. His second, and last, “Robin”. A friend... a student... almost a son. The one he failed. The one who died alone, horribly. The one he was too late to save.

The plane rose up - no need for anything as old-fashioned as a runway - the exit opened and water from the lake above spilled through the opening. Batman flew through the curtain of water and into the air. Behind them, the concealed opening closed and the system began its work to reclaim the water and pump it back into the lake. As the plane climbed swiftly into the night sky, Batman glanced over to Diana. To Wonder Woman.

He must not allow memories of Jason to dent his confidence now. This was a simple mission. Break in, find what they need, get out. He would not fail tonight.

He couldn’t resist pushing the plane faster than usual. G-force took hold as the plane zoomed upward. Diana laughed exuberantly and Batman turned them toward the bay and pushed the acceleration just that little bit more. The plane could go hypersonic but that would get them noticed and the mission required stealth. They sped over the water toward Metropolis.

 

 

#### Metropolis

Batman slowed their flight, circled the Luthor estate at altitude and relinquished the controls to Alfred, back at the cave. “The plane is yours,” he said.

“Drone mode active,” Alfred confirmed and seamlessly took them down toward the house.

The architect who designed the Luthor mansion had been very fond of curves. The front of the building was a crescent and the roof was constructed in undulating strips of grass, stone and glass. It looked like an ocean in the moonlight.

The plane’s windshield slid open. Batman rose from the cockpit and stepped out onto the front of the plane. Wonder Woman followed his example. As the plane hovered over the roof, they looked at each other and leapt at the same moment from the plane down to the roof. The plane rose into the air and away.

Batman crouched as his boots hit the stone, straightened and ran lightly across the roof to the security control panel. He opened it and set to work. Lex had a good security system but it wasn’t the best available and presented no problem to someone with Batman’s experience. The system had three layers: a standard intruder and fire alarm which would automatically summon police or fire services when triggered; cameras which recorded all activity with redundant backups; and motion sensors.

Batman disabled the perimeter alarm by looping the signal wire. A slight blip would register if anyone was actively monitoring the system during the instant he flipped the switch but otherwise the alarm was now useless. He unscrewed the main plate to expose the fibre-optic cable. He carefully unscrewed the cable without breaking the connection, then set his own device on top of the panel. Working swiftly he spliced his device into the cables. The screen of his device flickered on and an image of a hallway inside the house appeared.

“Monitoring security,” he reported, keeping his voice low.

Alfred acknowledged, “Beginning recording. One hundred and eighty seconds.”

Wonder Woman reached his side as the image switched to a different internal camera. With a gesture, Batman warned her to be quiet. She nodded and raised her hood to conceal her face. They watched the view on the tiny screen change from camera to camera. Batman saw no sign that Lex was home. In fact, it appeared that no one was home.

“Twenty seconds,” Alfred said after what felt like ten minutes. “Ten seconds. Eight... seven...”

Batman rested his thumb on the device’s control. As the countdown reached zero he clicked the button, taking over the security monitoring and feeding the system the recorded footage on a continuous loop. Now, even if someone was watching the cameras, or checked the recording later, they would see nothing untoward.

“Loop in place,” he reported for Alfred’s benefit. Then, to Wonder Woman, “Your turn.”

Wonder Woman crossed the roof to where the glass strip began. Had Batman been doing this alone, he would have broken the glass to get inside, but Diana persuaded him to utilise her special skills. She paused, studying the way the glass panels were put together then she walked out onto the glass. She crouched where two panels joined. Batman couldn’t see exactly what she was doing, but he did see her lift the heavy glass panel with her hands as if it weighed nothing. The glass was several centimetres thick.

It wasn’t how he would have done it, but it was effective. She dropped through the opening she’d made. Batman followed her.

Once inside, they headed in different directions, as planned. Wonder Woman was going to search Lex’s bedroom and the fortified room they identified as a possible panic room. Batman would take the study downstairs, plus one side-mission of his own. If neither of them found the photographs, the next step would depend on whether there was any response from security or cops. If there was time, they could search the rest of the house. If not, they would move on to search the LexCorp offices.

“Sit. rep,” Batman ordered as he headed swiftly down the stairs.

“All clear,” Alfred reported. There was no silent alarm summoning the law, no sign their presence had been detected. Good.

Batman went past the study and found the steps to the basement level. Lex had a server room underneath the main house. While the photographs were the primary mission, Batman couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get into Lex’s files. He wanted to know where Lex was getting his money and this was the quickest way. Inside the server room he worked quickly. Each server slid out of its slot; he attached a data mining device then slid the server back into place. The devices would transmit everything to Batman’s system, where his algorithms could sift through the data and extract what he needed. It would take a few days, perhaps weeks, depending on how much data was there.

With his first mission accomplished, Batman made his way to the study. Most of the house was decorated with clean lines and minimalist decor, but the study was furnished like an old-fashioned library. There were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filling one wall, filled with leather-bound books. A large stained-oak desk with a laptop and telephone dominated one side of the room. On the other side was a huge faux-fireplace and hanging on the wall above it, a painting depicting a scene from _Paradise Lost:_ Lucifer’s escape from Hell. A short distance from the desk was a leather armchair and a dresser with a crystal whiskey decanter and several matching glasses.

Bruce started with the desk. The drawers were locked but the locks were easily picked. He searched each thoroughly, but found nothing of any interest. He checked the desk for secret compartments. He moved on.

The dresser held nothing but alcohol, mixers and ice.

The bookshelves would take a long time to search if he had to check every book. But as he got close to the shelves he saw dust clinging to the wood. Not much, but whoever cleaned in here didn’t do a great job of it. So instead of examining the books, he examined the shelves. He found a set of books that had recently been removed, leaving trails in the dust. Carefully he removed the same books, stacking them on the floor. Hidden behind them was a thin, fabric-bound book. He pulled it out and it fell open in his hands.

Got it! He knew at once this was the photograph album they were looking for. Each page held four photographs, all very old and held in place with those little paper corners. Tissue paper separated the pages, reminding him of a wedding album. The pictures showed people in military uniforms, but there was no sign of Diana in them. Batman had difficulty turning the pages with the heavy gloves on his hands, but he wouldn’t risk removing them and leaving his prints behind.

He was beginning to think the photograph Diana wanted wasn’t there when he turned a page and saw her face. She was unmistakeable, yet this wasn’t the Diana he knew. This was Wonder Woman. She stood with four men in what looked like the rubble of a bombed-out building. Two of the men were young and in uniform. One might have been native American, though that was hard to tell in the faded picture. The last was older, dressed as a civilian. None of them was smiling. Wonder Woman gazed into the camera and her eyes were haunted.

The lack of smiles was normal for the period, Batman recalled. This would have been in the days when it took far more than a fraction of a second to expose the film in a camera. Pictures had to be posed, and the subjects had to remain still for quite a while. Still, this didn’t seem like a happy picture.

Batman removed it from the album and turned the page. The next picture showed Diana with just one of the men from the first photograph. She was looking at the camera, but he was looking at her, and it was a look Bruce recognised. He was in love with her. There was no indication of whether the feeling was mutual.

Just how old are you, Diana?

It was the only question he had asked that Diana evaded. Yes, she had almost certainly been selective about what she told him. He did the same when he answered her questions. They both had secrets they weren’t ready to share. But she had told him a lot and he did not believe she had lied to him. He remembered Diana talking about the island where she was raised: an island with no men, just women like her. He remembered his struggle not to ask the obvious question about life on a lonely island of women - the question that any red-blooded man would ask. He remembered her laughing when she understood what he was thinking and how frankly she answered the question he hadn’t asked.

So why conceal her age? He didn’t buy the “a lady doesn’t tell” line for a second. Diana was every inch a lady...but not that kind.

The next photograph swept his doubts away. This one was taken indoors and Diana posed with the man as if they were a couple, their bodies turned toward each other. Again, no smiles, but she was happy, radiantly so.

And then he understood. He had been thinking of Diana as maybe 150 years old, a stunning age when she looked no older than thirty, but not mind-blowing. But what if she was older? What if she was _a lot_ older? What would that mean for her love affair with a soldier?

Wonder Woman’s voice came over the comm. “I’ve got nothing here.”

“I do. I have the album. There are three photographs so far. Do you know if there are more?”

“I only saw one in the catalogue. There are others?”

“Yes.” Batman turned the page and found that was the last. “I’m done. Let’s get out of here.”

Then Alfred’s voice broke in. “Quickly! You have company.”

 

 

“Quickly! You have company.”

Wonder Woman was in the panic room when Alfred’s warning cracked across the comm. The room was about three metres square and bore a strong resemblance to a bank vault: steel reinforced walls and a solid steel door that could be sealed from the inside with a large wheel. One wall of the room was full of screens showing the security feeds from throughout the house, but it was the looped footage Batman imposed on the system, not the live feed it should have been.

She was about to ask Alfred for more details about the “company” he warned of when Batman did it for her.

“Details. How long?”

“Inside the house. Five armed hostiles on the upper floor. Three downstairs.”

The panic room door began to close. Someone was controlling it remotely. Wonder Woman streaked across the room to stop it before she was trapped.

“Roof,” Batman snapped. “One minute.”

“Coming in,” Alfred’s voice confirmed.

Wonder Woman just barely got her bracelet into the doorway before the reinforced door slammed shut. It was still trying to close itself, but the bracelet would not give under pressure. It bought her time, but now she was trapped with her wrist between two plates of steel. She worked her free hand into the gap and pushed. She strained against the heavy door. It moved back a little, enough to free her wrist but she kept her bracelet in the crack. She shoved against the door with all her might. The strain pulled a cry from her and the door gave under her superhuman strength.

“What’s wrong?” Batman’s concern came through even with the voice scrambler he used.

Wonder Woman stepped through the broken door. “I had a fight with a door. Heading your way now.”

The thunder of automatic gunfire exploded nearby. She ran toward the sound. In the hallway she saw six men and women in black combat gear, all with guns aimed at Batman.

“Hey!” she shouted and most of the guns turned her way.

Reflex and instinct took over. She moved in a blur, deflecting the bullets that got close enough to threaten her and letting the rest pass her to pepper the wall behind. Batman moved toward the hostiles. His armour protected him from the bullets but most men would still have been knocked off their feet by the impact. He simply moved, implacable.

Their opponents were plainly not used to dealing with opponents who didn’t fall down when shot.

Wonder Woman took advantage of their shock to take the guns from the first three. She threw the broken guns down the hallway behind her. The third man lunged at her. She twisted to avoid the blow, grabbed his arm and added her strength to his momentum to throw him into the others. They fell like dominos.

“Nice.” Batman approved.

Together they ran to the open panel of the roof. She was faster and reached the opening first. She could hear the plane hovering above, ready for them. But the ceiling was high and to get up there it was a big jump straight up with nothing to hold onto. An easy jump for Wonder Woman, but could Batman do it? He used ropes and grapples in ways she had never seen before, but he couldn’t actually fly. They hadn’t discussed the details of how to extract.

Wonder Woman placed herself under the open panel, crossed her hands to make a platform and looked at him. “Jump!”

Batman didn’t hesitate. Later, when she replayed the events in her mind, she would remember that trust with gratitude. She crouched as he ran to her and planted one boot on her braced hands. Wonder Woman lifted him, using her whole body to thrust upward. Batman flew up through the glass and into the night.

Those few seconds were enough to bring the others - Luthor’s security, she assumed - to her. Once again, she was engulfed in a rain of bullets. As she danced, deflecting the assault, she heard weapons fire outside as well.

Alfred’s voice came through the comm. “The plane is taking damage. Get out!”

Batman shouted back, “She’s still inside!”

Wonder Woman dived toward the nearest gunman. “Go!” she ordered Batman. “I’ll catch up.”

“I won’t leave you.”

 _Oh, stubborn, stubborn man._ “Go! Now!” she yelled, cursing him for distracting her as a bullet grazed her upper arm. She leapt into the air, over her assailants and ran down the hallway. She darted around a corner and into the nearest room. She barely noticed the details of the room itself. She ran for the window and launched herself straight at the glass. The window shattered into a thousand shards. Wonder Woman curled her body into a tuck, somersaulted in the air, hit the ground, rolled to absorb the impact, leapt to her feet and kept running, her cape streaming out behind her.

Ahead of her the Batplane was visible against the night sky.

“I’m out,” Wonder Woman reported. “Keep going.”

“What are you going to do?” Batman demanded.

“Hold your height and velocity steady,” she instructed as she ran. “I’m coming aboard.” The ground ahead was clear, at least until the plane reached the trees that marked the perimeter of the estate.

“Steady!” he snapped.

Wonder Woman took the lasso from her side, just in case she missed her target. She only had one chance to do this right. She put on a fresh burst of speed and jumped. She flung out the lasso as she reached the height of the plane and the cord looped around the wing tip. But she didn’t need it. She landed dead on target - on top of the plane.

“Shit!” Batman’s voice exclaimed.

Wonder Woman pulled her lasso free. As the plane windshield opened she slid down and dropped easily into the co-pilot seat. She laughed. “Nice catch, Batman.”

He growled something obscene, closed the windshield and took the plane straight up so fast she felt gravity shove her down into the seat.

“Heading back to the barn,” he reported.

 

 

#### Gotham City

Diana was hurt.

The thought burned in Batman’s mind all the way back to the Batcave. He saw blood on her skin as she dropped into the co-pilot’s seat, before she covered it with her cape. While they were in the air he had no way to tell how serious it was or whether the blood he saw was her only injury.

Lights beneath the lake guided him to the cave entrance and he held his breath involuntarily as the plane plunged through the curtain of water. He had done that manoeuvre a hundred times or more but it was always risky and he just couldn’t breathe until they were safely inside.

He landed quickly on the pad and opened the cockpit. Alfred waited on the platform above. Batman wanted to demand answers from him at once. He was angry that Alfred’s warning had come so late. What was the point of having all his surveillance technology if the man watching it fell asleep on the job? Diana was hurt because of that late warning.

He pulled the Bat mask off as Diana reached his side. “You’re hurt,” he said.

“I’m fine,” Diana insisted.

Bruce pulled the cape away from her arm, revealing the blood. “You’re hurt, Diana. Let’s take care of it.”

She shook off the cape and looked at the injury, probing around the gash with her fingers. “It’s nothing. I heal quickly. I just need to clean it.”

“Then let us take care of you,” Bruce said patiently. He led her to the corner of the cave they kept sterile for medical procedures. He pulled his gloves off and detached the batwing cape as they walked.

Diana permitted him to examine the wound on her arm while Alfred prepared an antiseptic wash. It was a bullet graze, deep enough to scar, but not bad enough to cause permanent damage.

“When you said you heal quickly...” Bruce picked up a swab and dipped it in the antiseptic, “...do you mean human fast, or better than that?”

Diana winced when the antiseptic stung her raw flesh. “I don't get hurt easily. My body heals damage only a little faster than normal for a human, when it happens. But I’m immune to most toxins and I don’t get infections.”

“That’s good to know. This isn’t serious, but a couple of stitches would help it heal.” He changed to a fresh swab and began cleaning the blood from where it dripped down her arm.

“Stitches aren’t necessary,” Diana said mildly.

“Your call,” he shrugged, then as he continued to work, spoke to Alfred. “What happened out there?”

“The sensors did not detect anyone inside the house, but they were there. I couldn’t see them until they were visible on the cameras.”

“How is that possible? We’ve got sensors all through the house.”

“I have a guess, Master Wayne. Someone may have located your sensors and interfered with the transmission, much as you did with the cameras.”

“That’s - ” Bruce began, but stopped himself before he said _impossible_. It wasn’t impossible. It wasn’t even unlikely. He hadn’t been watching the sensor feeds closely since Luthor died. Someone _might_ have found his devices, but why screw with the feeds instead of just removing them? Unless...

“We were expected,” Diana said, exactly as Bruce reached the same conclusion.

“I think you’re right,” Bruce agreed. “Is this your only injury, Diana?” The bullet graze was no longer bleeding, but he covered it with a wound dressing and reached for a bandage.

“I don’t need that,” Diana objected.

“Will you stop arguing with me on this?” Bruce handed her the foil the dressing had been wrapped in. “It’s something my R and D came up with for battlefield surgery. The dressing is impregnated with a gel that will help the skin heal and minimise scarring. You can remove it in a couple of hours if you must.”

She gave a small smile. “Fine. Thank you.” She allowed him to bandage her arm.

When he was done, he lifted her wrist and examined the bracelet she wore. “There's not even a scratch on this! What is it made of? I don't recognise the metal.”

“It's not found anywhere except my home,” Diana told him. “It's the hardest substance on earth, and the secret of shaping the metal is known only to a few. I am not one of them.”

“I could use a little of that for my armour,” Bruce said enviously. He was unstrapping the bullet-ridden chest plate as he spoke. The armour was scored where bullets had hit and been repelled but there were at least six embedded in the chestplate.

He passed the chestplate to Alfred. “The extra layer of kevlar worked, though. The bullets never touched me.”

“That,” Alfred admonished, “was more luck than kevlar. This is _not_ designed for you to walk into a hail of bullets. What if they had armour-piercing rounds?”

“It’s designed to be frightening,” Bruce argued. “And ignoring their bullets did scare them.” He groaned as he lifted the collar over his head. He stripped off the black undershirt and rubbed at his bare chest. “But I’m going to be bruised.”

“That happens when bullets don’t touch you,” Alfred said sarcastically. “Do try to recall the laws of physics next time. Are you sure you didn’t break your ribs?”

“No, it’s not that bad.” He stripped off the rest of the uniform quickly and pulled on a pair of loose sweat pants. He reached for a T-shirt and felt a light touch on the skin of his back. He turned to see Diana. She was staring at his scars.

Bruce knew his back was a sight. Wounds from bullets and knives, burn scars and bites and even laser scars from the removal of an involuntary tattoo. His life as Batman, written on his flesh. There was more on his chest and arms.

“Twenty years of war leaves a mark,” Bruce said self-consciously and pulled the T-shirt over his head, covering most of the scars.

Alfred pried a bullet loose from the chest plate and it fell to the ground with a ping. “Lucky you have a few spares. This is ruined.” He showed it to Bruce. “One more shot here, or here, and it wouldn’t have held up.”

Bruce took the chest plate from him and pushed at the areas he indicated. He did feel it buckle a little. He pushed harder and felt it crack. “You could be right,” he admitted. “It needs better reinforcement. I’ll look at it tomorrow.”

He retrieved the stolen photographs and looked for Diana. She had moved away from them while he examined the armour and was standing in front of the glass case where he kept Robin’s last uniform. Jason’s. The one the Joker left for him to find, graffitied with his taunting words. Bruce had kept it in the cave since Jason’s funeral. A reminder. A remembrance. A promise. Diana had seen it before, but she hadn’t asked him about it. Bruce guessed she was going to ask now.

He walked to her side. “His name was Jason,” he said to stop her asking. “I found him on the streets about a year after my previous ward moved out. Jason had been through a lot and he was an angry kid. I thought I could give him a way to channel that anger. I think we were getting there, but then he...” Bruce rubbed a hand over his face. “I tried to save him. I was too late.”

“I thought perhaps he’s the one you left behind,” Diana said softly.

“What?”

“At the house, you refused to leave me behind.” She turned to face him. “Bruce, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but it’s important that you understand. I was not in danger. You _could_ have left me there and I would have been fine.”

“You got shot, Diana,” he pointed out.

“It’s a scratch.”

Bruce looked at the suit again. “I didn’t leave him behind,” he told her. “But I’d rather not talk about it. Let’s go upstairs so you can change.”

Diana disappeared into his bathroom. Bruce still hadn’t given her the photographs. He laid them on the dining table and went into the kitchen to select a bottle of wine. He found that Alfred had already set out fixings for a meal - when did he have the time? Bruce opened a bottle of Spanish red and assembled the meal. There wasn’t much to do except warm the bread and add dressing to the salad. By the time Diana emerged with all traces of Wonder Woman gone, Bruce had the table set. Diana wore a silver-grey blouse and plain charcoal slacks. In her ears were the simple diamonds she had been wearing the night they met. She was elegant and lovely.

Bruce had put the photographs beside her plate. Diana picked them up, handling them delicately by the edges. She gasped and laid the pictures down side by side on the table.

“Bruce, I never thought I would see these again. I owe you a debt.” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

He poured wine into her glass. “You can repay me by answering a question,” he suggested.

She looked up from the photographs. “It must be a terribly important question.”

Bruce indicated the photographs with a look. “What happened to him?” he asked gently, aware that he had avoided a similarly personal question.

Diana sighed and touched the group photograph with one fingertip. “This was the day of the Armistice. November eleventh 1918. We believed it was over. The war was won. So many were lost, but the six of us survived.”

“Six?” he asked. The photograph showed five.

She smiled distantly. “Charlie was behind the camera.”

“So...what happened?”

Diana was silent for a long time. “Mustard gas,” she said eventually. “Most people exposed to it died on the battlefield, quickly. But Steve... He only caught the edge of the cloud. We thought he was lucky but it turned out he breathed enough to damage his lungs. He died...a few years later.”

“I’m sorry.”

She closed her eyes and he watched a single tear fall. “Thank you,” she said.

Bruce wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her he understood how that kind of loss could change a person. He wanted to say that sometimes you couldn’t get past the loss; no matter what the shrinks say some pain never goes away, but you could move past the _person_. You could let someone take their place. It would never be the same, but it could be good.

He couldn’t say any of those things. Not out loud. All he could do was watch that tear shine on her cheek.

“Master Bruce, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Alfred appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Senator Finch is on the line. She called earlier while you were in Metropolis. I gave her the usual excuse. Should I put her off again?”

Bruce sighed and gave Diana an apologetic look. “No, I’d better talk to her. Excuse me, Diana.” He rose from the table, grabbed a swallow of the wine and took the phone from Alfred.

 _The usual excuse_ was that the billionaire playboy was busy with a woman and it was more than his butler’s life was worth to interrupt his fun. Which meant that, on top of the stunt he pulled at the hearing, Senator Finch would have come to an obvious, wrong conclusion and was likely very annoyed with him.

Bruce punched the button to take the call off hold and lifted the phone to his ear. “Bruce Wayne speaking. Senator?”

“I’m sorry to call so late, but this is urgent.”

“I am at your disposal, Senator.”

“I’m so glad you said that,” she told him. “There’s going to be a meeting at nine tomorrow morning. I want you there.”

9am meant Bruce would have to leave at once, but he couldn’t refuse. “Of course. Email me the details. I’ll be there.”

“Good. Have a safe flight, Mr Wayne.” She hung up without saying goodbye. Yeah, he had pissed her off.

Scrambling the jet at this hour would mean dragging the pilots out of bed, which didn’t make for a safe flight, but the Wayne Enterprises helicopter was on twenty-four hour standby.

“Alfred, call the chopper. I’ve got to be in DC by nine.” He handed the receiver back to Alfred and returned to the table. “Diana, I - ” he began and broke off when he saw she was on a call of her own.

“Yes, of course,” she said. She glanced at Bruce and made a gesture to indicate she wouldn’t be long. “I’m not at home right now, but I’ll call you as soon as I’ve checked my files. An hour? Yes. My pleasure. I’ll speak to you soon.” She lowered the Blackberry.

“You have to go?” Bruce smiled regretfully.

“I’m afraid so. A client in India.”

India explained the call in the pre-dawn hours. Bruce was relieved, since he had to leave himself. He retrieved her costume, now carefully packed in its locked case, from the bathroom and walked with her to her car.

“I’m sorry I have to leave so quickly,” Diana said.

“Well, I have to fly myself so it’s fine. I’m going to be in Washington for a few days. I’ll call you when I get back.”

“I will look forward to it.” Diana reached up to touch his face. She had never done that before. Her fingers cupped his cheek warmly. Bruce felt his heart speed up. She kissed him lightly on his lips. “Thank you for tonight.”

It was all he could do to keep the unexpected kiss chaste. Bruce was good at self-control, very, very good. But his control wasn’t so great when it came to sex and desire. He forced himself to remain where he was until her car was out of sight. By then, he could hear the approaching helicopter.

“Should I pack a bag for you, Master Wayne?”

Bruce turned back to the house. “No, thanks, Alfred. I have what I need at the hotel in DC. Don’t worry about the armour. I’ll look at that when I get back. But keep an eye on the sensors and data from Lex’s house. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Of course, sir.”

 

 

Superman hovered above the apartment building until he saw Diana’s car disappear into the garage beneath it. He flew down and as Clark Kent walked quickly into the garage. He was waiting at the elevator when she walked his way, carrying a metal case like the kind professionals used for video equipment.

Diana looked as fresh as if it were morning, though her hair was a little windblown. She smiled when she saw him. “You’re early.”

“I’m fast,” he answered with a grin. “Thank you for letting me come. I know it’s late and since you weren’t home when I called I guess I interrupted something.”

“You did, but nothing that couldn’t wait. Come upstairs.”

In her apartment, Diana asked him to wait while she changed.

“Would you like me to make coffee?” Clark offered.

“Goodness, no, not unless it’s for you. There’s chamomile in the second cupboard. I would enjoy some tea. Help yourself to anything you’d like. I won’t be long.”

Clark was grateful for something to do while he waited. He found a teapot and made chamomile tea for two. Herbal teas took a few minutes to brew, so it wasn’t quite ready when Diana returned. She was wearing silk pyjamas and a full length robe.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. It’s just been a long night. What can I do for you, Kal?”

He felt guilty for interrupting her, but he was here now. “You know about the Senate hearings?”

“Of course. It must be difficult for you.”

Clark poured tea through a strainer into two mugs. “No. It’s not fun, listening to so many people who were hurt that day, but I understand why it’s important to get the story out in the open.” He offered her one of the mugs. “There’s a conference tomorrow Senator Finch asked me to come to. She wants to discuss my accountability for what I do.”

Diana nodded gravely. “I see.”

“Usually I’d talk things over with my mom, or with Lois, but this time I really need a perspective from someone...like me.”

Diana led the way into her living room. “I’m happy to help.” She sat down in an armchair and curled her legs underneath her. “This is about who you are now, about Superman, not just the invasion?”

Clark nodded, taking a seat on the couch. “She said what I do, not what I did.”

“Accountability suggests the senator is looking for some kind of authority over you.”

“That’s what I thought, too. I can’t let that happen. It would only be a matter of time before they try to use me as a weapon.”

“Yes, eventually, that will happen.”

“You think that’s okay?”

Diana sipped her tea. “Kal, I was raised as a warrior and when I left Themyscira it was to fight in a war. For me, if the cause is just I believe in fighting. But what’s right for me may not be right for you.”

“It isn’t.” Clark had absolutely no doubt of that. He wasn’t cut out to fight, but even if he were, letting someone order him to kill went against everything he believed.

“In one way, the answer is simple. You already know that no one on Earth has the power to compel you. Any arrangement you come to depends on your agreement and cooperation.”

“So you think I should negotiate?”

“In a conference? No. Negotiating with a committee is like trying to hold water in a sieve.”

“A committee is what I have to deal with. If I refuse to negotiate with them...”

“Don't refuse, not directly. But don't speak to the group. Figure out who is the smartest woman, or man, in the room, and negotiate with that person, even if they are also the least powerful. But first, be clear in your mind what you want and where you can compromise.”

Clark nodded. “That makes sense.”

She set her cup on the table. “Is there any leadership you think you could accept? Let’s begin there.”

 

 

#### Washington DC

It was a breakfast meeting, held in a small conference room in the Capitol. On one side of the room a breakfast buffet had been laid out. The conference table had seating for just eight people, and not all of the seats were filled. Senators Finch and Barrow, General Swanwick and Colonel Kiernan of the Air Force, Clark himself, in his Superman guise, Edward Doren, the Vice President and Bruce Wayne. Clark felt better about this meeting since talking with Diana, but he was still worried. He doubted this was going to be good for him.

Finch began by pointing out the breakfast buffet. “This is an informal meeting, off the record. Help yourselves to anything you want.”

There was a pause while several people did as she suggested.

The senator continued, “I wanted to bring us all together to talk about what happens after these hearings conclude. It’s clear to me that we will be able to establish a narrative of what happened. The facts, or _most_ of them,” she glanced at Swanwick, “can be made public. But once our conclusions are published, there are going to be calls for action. I think we all need to be prepared for that.”

“Senator.” Bruce Wayne was pouring coffee into a mug as he spoke. “Can I ask a question before you go on?”

“Ask away,” she said impatiently.

“Why isn’t Lex Luthor here? He’s the best representative of business in Metropolis and he’s here in Washington.”

She sighed. “Lex Luthor is a kid. I want people here who will take this matter seriously.”

Wayne chose a seat. “Yes, he’s young. He’s also got his father’s ruthless streak and he’s a lot smarter than he seems to be. You might regret not inviting him today. But let’s proceed.” He drank his coffee and poured more.

“What kind of call to action are you expecting, Senator?” asked Swanwick.

“I wish I knew. It’s never easy to predict how the media will spin a story but I think a few things are inevitable. One is how to prepare for the next alien incursion. Another is whether Superman should be held responsible for the deaths.”

Swanwick interrupted. “Superman was acting nominally under my orders, Senator, and in a time of war. He can no more be held personally responsible than any other soldier following orders.”

Superman looked at him gratefully. That was help he had not expected.

Finch nodded, but said, “If that sticks, it leads to the next problem, which is how far we are able to control what Superman does in the future.” She looked at Clark. “This is why we need this meeting. We will need your cooperation with whatever action we decide to take.”

“I understand, Senator,” Superman said cautiously. He was afraid he did understand. This meeting was all about how they were going to control him, and he knew he couldn’t accept that.

“Can we expect your cooperation?” she pressed tensely.

Clark raised his hands in an open gesture. “I don’t know what I'm being asked to cooperate with, yet. This is politics, and I try not to get involved with politics.” He went on quickly, seeing the senator was about to interrupt him. “I know, this time I _am_ involved and I can’t avoid that. But want to hear from everyone before I weigh in. You understand the ramifications. I’m not sure I do.” Maybe that was a little too ingenuous. Clark did understand the ramifications, but from his own perspective. He needed to understand theirs.

So they talked, and Superman listened. The discussion went on for some time. The senators were most concerned about being seen to do something; for them it was all about the PR. Swanwick and the colonel wanted some kind of assurance that Superman’s power couldn’t be used against the USA. Swanwick mentioned the spy satellite Superman destroyed. Bruce Wayne talked about the collateral damage from the battle in Metropolis and his fears of what could happen in future.

Some of them seemed to forget that Superman was in the room when they talked about how any agreement to control him might work. Who would be in charge? Under what circumstances should Superman seek permission before acting? There was no real consensus at the table, but a lot of people pretending they agreed with each other.

It was exactly, Clark thought gloomily, as Diana predicted. What did they really expect him to say to this? Did any of them think he would meekly buckle under? If he were that type of person, he wouldn’t have fought Zod.

It had gone on long enough. Clark turned his eyes to Bruce Wayne. Almost at once, the other man became aware of his attention and met his eyes.

“Mr Wayne,” Clark said, just loud enough to cut through the chatter. Silence fell in the room.

“Mr Wayne,” Clark repeated, “if you were in my shoes, would you be okay with this?”

He heard Wayne’s heart speed up, just for a moment. “Why are you asking _me_?”

“Because I’ve been listening, and you’re the smartest person in this room.”

Oddly, Wayne seemed to relax at that. He didn’t answer Clark’s question, though, just held his gaze steadily.

“Would you?” Clark pushed. It was a gamble, singling out this man who seemed to fear and dislike him in equal measure.

Wayne’s gaze dropped to the table as he considered. When he looked up, his expression was absolutely unreadable, a perfect poker face. “No,” he said. “In your place, I wouldn’t submit to anything we’ve discussed so far.”

Clark felt the relief wash over him. “Why not?”

“When there’s a nuke headed for a city, or a plane falling out of the sky, you can’t wait for a committee. You have to be free to act instantly. When people are dying, if you stop to think about the rules, you’re letting them die.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Superman. “But let me turn that around. If you were faced with a creature capable of destroying the world...”

Clark interrupted, frowning. “I was. I killed him.”

And the look of triumph that flitted across Wayne’s expression told Clark he’d fallen right into a trap.

Wayne said flatly, “Then you understand our position.”

Smartest person in the room. Best ally...most dangerous enemy. Which was he, really?

Wayne turned to the others. “The only way this can work is if any oversight is retroactive. And that’s not something the American people will accept as having any real force.”

“Retroactive,” Swanwick said. “You’re suggesting, what? That every time Superman acts, a committee gets together after the fact and decides whether it was okay?”

Wayne shrugged. “Given that nothing can work unless Superman agrees to it, I don’t think there’s any other way.”

“And when the committee decides he’s done something wrong?” Swanwick asked.

“You’d best hope that doesn’t happen, General. We don’t have any weapon that would be effective against Superman and it would be asinine to develop one.”

“Why do you say that?” Vice President Doren asked sharply.

Clark didn’t like the turn the meeting had taken. It was predictable, though. Sooner or later they would want to know Superman’s weaknesses.

“There is no way to keep weapons technology secret in the long term,” Wayne declared. “It’s never happened in the whole history of war. If you had something that would be effective against him,” Wayne nodded toward Superman, “can you imagine what it would do to our own troops? Or to our citizens, in terrorist hands? You’d make the mutually assured destruction of our nuclear arms race look like children fighting over toys.” Wayne shook his head. “That’s one scenario. The other may be worse.”

Swanwick looked very grim. “The other?” he asked, but Senator Finch cut in before Wayne could respond.

“We’re out of time, gentlemen. I don’t know about the rest of you but I need some time to think about this. Can we meet again on Friday?” She looked around the table. No one spoke, but no one refused her suggestion, so she took that as agreement. “I’ll set it up.” She looked at Wayne. “And I’ll include Lex Luthor this time.”

Wayne nodded. “That’s good.” He sounded wary.

Clark hung back as everyone filed out of the room. Bruce Wayne was the last of them to head for the door.

“Why are you so afraid of me?” Clark asked impulsively.

Wayne, almost out the door, turned around. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You defended my position, but you keep stressing how powerless everyone is,” Clark pointed out. “If that’s not fear, what is it?”

Wayne closed the door, sealing the room. “You want to use your power for the greater good. You want to help.”

“I do.” So why did Wayne make that sound like the worst of insults?

“Maybe if you save enough lives, someday you’ll be able to forget the dead of Metropolis, is that it?”

“No!” Clark was shocked by his cynicism. “I’ll never forget them. But that wasn’t my fault. I mean...”

“Or maybe you are what you want everyone to believe. Maybe you’re just that good. You’re a hero, a saviour.”

“Is that bad?” Clark was trying to puzzle this out and he knew he was missing something important.

“Yes, damn it, that’s bad. That’s worse. I know, I’ve _seen_ how easy it is for the very best of men to turn into the worst. What it takes is so simple, Superman. You may be bullet-proof. You may be immune to every weapon those men can imagine, but you’re not immune to that so simple thing.”

Clark swallowed. “What? What does it take?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Wayne stepped closer, into Clark’s personal space. His eyes burned into Clark’s and Clark saw the depth of rage inside him, the fury he somehow hid from the world most of the time.

“One. Bad. Day,” Wayne said and it was as if each word was ripped from him, causing pain, making him bleed.

For all his strength, Clark felt weak as the meaning of those words crashed in on him. Involuntarily, he took a step back. If he were human, he would be trembling. Because Wayne was right. Everyone had a breaking point, even Clark. He found his when Zod threatened his family, and again when they fought and Zod threatened everything else Clark cared for.

Clark knew his understanding was written all over him, because Wayne backed off, a look of satisfaction in his eyes. He didn't say another word. He turned on his heel, wrenched the door open and left Clark alone in the room.

_I know what it takes to turn the best of men into the worst. One bad day._

Clark sank into the nearest chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diana’s history - I obviously have no idea how her story is going to play out in canon. My version is what seemed to fit who she had become both in the BvS movie and in my story.
> 
> One Bad Day. For those who don't recognise it, Bruce is quoting The Joker. Though he never spoke the line in the _Dark Knight_ movie, Heath Ledger’s Joker used Harvey Dent to prove his thesis: that all it takes to turn a hero into a villain is one bad day. In the comics, of course, the most famous story is _The Killing Joke_ , in which he tried to drive Jim Gordon mad to prove the same point. And in comic canon, Batman always, always proves him wrong. So this is Bruce Wayne’s rock bottom: the moment he allows himself to become the villain. For me, it's more effective than a physical battle, and the effect will last longer. Read on...


	3. Batman and Superman

#### Metropolis

#### Three months later

“You’re holding a .365 magnum loaded with armour-piercing bullets,” Mercy told Lex. “Give it a try.”

Lex weighed the gun in his hand and took aim at the figure in front of him. It wasn’t a real person, just a test dummy dressed in armour. The armour was the important thing. It had been recovered from the ruins of Metropolis by one of his clean-up crews. How a Kryptonian suit came to be there, no one knew. Lex guessed that somehow, during his battle with Superman, Zod had removed it. Perhaps because, on Earth, he didn’t need it any longer. Ever since then, LexLabs had been working to reproduce the armour. They had finally succeeded, and Lex was here to test the prototype.

He held the gun in a two-handed grip, as he had been taught, held it steady, targeting the middle of the chest. He took a deep breath, then another and slowly squeezed the trigger.

He thought he was prepared for the kick-back, but the gun leapt in his hands, the report deafening. Lex remembered to bring the gun back on target, but he didn’t need to fire again. He stared.

The test dummy was still upright, but slumped to one side on its stand, showing that his bullet had hit it. But the armoured chest plate appeared to be untouched. Maybe his aim had been off?

Mercy gestured to him to lower the gun and when he did, she walked into the firing zone. She bent and picked something up from the concrete floor, looked at it, and smiled.

Lex held out his hand and she dropped it into his palm. The armour piercing bullet was still warm. It was also as flat as a dime.

Lex crowed with delight. He raised the gun again, waited for Mercy to get out of his line of fire, then shot again, and this time kept shooting until the gun was empty. The test dummy jerked and danced with each shot. His ears ringing despite the protection he wore, Lex discarded the gun and crossed the zone to the dummy. He pulled it up and ran his fingers over the armour.

Not even a scratch.

Lex turned around and saw the men and women watching him, waiting for his verdict. He looked for the lead scientist, Doctor Wilder. He beckoned and the man came forward.

“I trust you’re satisfied, sir,” he said cautiously.

“How quickly can we get this into mass production?” Lex asked.

Wilder looked taken aback. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Lex snapped.

“I’m sorry, sir. What I meant to say is while we are now able to synthesise the Kryptonian materials used to make the armour, making them on this small scale is very different from mass production. How long it will take depends on a lot of different factors. I can consult with specialists in the manufacturing division, but I can’t give you an answer right now.”

Lex nodded. “Better. How many of these suits can you manufacture in, say, six weeks? Using your current methods.”

Wilder considered. “Sir, it took eight weeks to make this one. The next will go faster, but six weeks?”

“How many?”

“On what budget, Mr Luthor?”

“Oh, piss on your budget! I’ll write you a blank cheque. Answer the fucking question!”

Wilder swallowed. “I believe I can promise three. We may be able to do better, but that’s the most I’m able to guarantee.”

Lex relaxed. “Manufacturing will be in touch with you tomorrow. In the meantime, email me an itemised budget request. I will give you seven weeks, but I need at least five of these suits.”

He saw Wilder draw breath to object and picked up the gun again. It was empty but his gesture made his point. Wilder swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing above his shirt collar.

“Yes, sir. It will be done.”

Lex handed the gun to Mercy. “Good.” He grinned at the test dummy, then left the room with Mercy at his heels.

 

 

#### Gotham City

Batman stood on top of the crane, high above Gotham’s dock. Far below, a freight ship just in from Port Blair in the Andaman Islands was being unloaded. Unusually, the cargo was being loaded straight onto a fleet of trucks. Most of the cargo was unremarkable: spices from India, computer components, some industrial chemicals. But the ship was carrying something else. Batman did not know exactly what it was, but the emails he intercepted contained words like “radioactive” and “weaponised”. It was more than enough to get his attention. Whatever they were trying to smuggle into his city would not reach its destination.

So far, he detected no sign of it.

A man appeared on the deck carrying a box that was evidently too heavy for him to tote easily. Batman turned his visor to the box, scanning on infra-red. It wasn’t a perfect system, but radioactive material would, by its nature, be warm. So he was looking either for a hotspot, or for something packed in coolant. The box showed cool. He switched to visual. The box was a plain wood crate with no markings on the outside. The man rested the box on the ship’s rail. His shirt was open and the prominent tattoos clearly marked him as belonging to a Russian organised crime syndicate.

This seemed the most likely target, but Batman didn’t like not knowing for sure. He couldn’t afford to get this wrong. _Gotham_ couldn’t afford for him to get this wrong.

“There is an armoured vehicle approaching your position,” Alfred reported tensely.

“I see it,” Batman agreed.

The Russian was still on the deck. The first of the trucks began to move off the dock. If the Russian and his box wasn’t the target, if instead it was on one of the trucks, Gotham was in trouble.

Batman zeroed in on the Russian, transmitting images back to Alfred. “Can you ID him?”

“Running facial recognition,” Alfred reported.

The facial recognition program was good, but it would take too long. In the best case scenario, the package he was looking for contained something like depleted uranium: dangerous but not an immediate threat. In the worst case, it was a dirty bomb, ready to detonate.

The armoured truck pulled on to the dock and the Russian hefted the box into his arms and headed down the gangplank.

Batman had to take a chance. The truck was almost enough to make it a certainty: outwardly old and a bit rusty but Batman could see how heavy it was from the way the vehicle took the corner. It was heavy because it was armoured and reinforced.

He raised the high powered rifle to his shoulder. Through the scope, he watched the Russian load the box into the van. As he began to close the door, Batman squeezed the trigger. The slam of the van door covered the gunshot with perfect timing. The magnetic tracker hit the van just behind the rear tyre. The Russian didn’t notice.

“Anything?” Batman asked.

“Still running.”

 _Damn._ “I’m following the Russian,” he decided. Batman jumped off the crane. He spread his arms wide as he fell, and his cape opened, slowing his fall like the wings it resembled. The cord attaching him to the crane unravelled as he fell. Directly beneath the crane was the roof of the warehouse. Just before he hit the roof the cord reached its full length and stretched, slowing his descent further so he landed hard on the steel roof, but not so hard it hurt. He detached the cord quickly and sprinted to the edge of the roof. His car waited below.

The tracker was active and following the van was easy. He followed, keeping out of sight since even in the dark his car was very noticeable. The console displayed a city map that showed him where the Russian was headed. Unfortunately, it looked like they were making a beeline for the centre of Gotham.

Batman couldn’t take that risk. “Alert GCPD. They need to know the van I’m chasing could be carrying a dirty bomb.”

“Sending now,” Alfred confirmed.

Batman saw the van turn toward the financial district. He put on more speed. Nothing in the communications he intercepted suggested an attack was imminent, but the financial district wasn’t a likely place to deliver something like this. It was more likely to be a target and that made Batman uneasy. He put on more speed. The time for stealth was over.

He wove in and out of the traffic between him and the van. Before he reached it, the driver noticed the Batmobile and accelerated, changing lanes in a futile attempt to evade the pursuit. It didn’t work.

Batman opened his weapons control panel. Matching the van’s vector he fired a harpoon. It pierced the rear door, even through the reinforcement, linking the van to the Batmobile with a steel cord.

Someone leaned out of the van with a gun. Idiots. Bullets bounced off the Batmobile but ricochet could kill innocent bystanders. Batman accelerated, closing the distance between himself and the van, reeling the harpoon cord in to prevent the van regaining distance. When there was barely a car-length between them, Batman hit the brakes and wrenched the wheel to the right. The Batmobile was built to take it. The van rolled, smashed into the Batmobile and both vehicles slid off the road, across the sidewalk and into the glass front of a store. Alarms blared.

At least the shooting had stopped.

Batman leapt out and headed for the van. The Russian was clambering out of the battered door. He had a bag strapped to his back, bulky enough to contain whatever was in the box. Batman glanced into the van long enough to see that the box was open - and empty - before pursuing the Russian into the night.

The Russian barrelled through the doors of the nearest building. Batman heard a shout followed by gunfire. He burst into the lobby in time to see the elevator doors close behind the Russian. The security guard was down.

“Denver Insurance Building. Send EMTs,” he ordered. He headed for the stairwell.

Why had the Russian entered here? This couldn’t be where the Russian was delivering his package. Maybe an improvised escape? If so, would he head for the roof, or was he hoping to divert his pursuer by making it look like he was headed that way and escape through the lobby? The stairwell was wide enough for Batman to reach the roof ahead of the elevator. He took a chance. He fired the grapnel up and used it to fly up through the stairwell. He could hear distant sirens approaching.

He pushed open the doors to the roof.

Flames engulfed him! What the hell? Batman raised the cape to protect his exposed skin, whirling to turn his back on the flames. The armour felt hot and he smelled napalm. The cape was supposed to be flameproof, but it wouldn’t stand up to napalm! Batman could not let this slow him down. Ignoring the flames as much as possible, he pushed open the door again. This time he was ready. He grabbed the flamethrower with both hands, shoved it into the man wielding it hard enough to break ribs, and followed with his fist. The man went down.

It wasn’t the Russian.

Somehow they had been expecting him, and were ready with this ambush.

Batman ran to the edge of the roof. He tore the burning cape off his shoulders as he ran. He looked down into the street below and saw the Russian running from the building. Damn!

He fired a fresh grapnel across the street and secured the other end to the roof where he stood. He jumped, using the cord as a zipwire to get down to the street quickly.

Then he felt the line he was riding jerk sharply.

And break.

Taken completely by surprise, Batman fell, an uncontrolled plunge toward the street thirty storeys below. He had nothing to hold on to. Not even the cape to slow his descent. The street rushed at him. He was going to die and he had no time to think, or to regret.

Something clamped around his body and pulled him upward faster than he had been falling. He felt dizzy. Impossibly, he was flying! He was carried to a nearby roof and set down on his feet.

Batman’s heart pounded with the adrenaline rush from his close call. He whirled around to see what caught him.

And found himself face to face with the blue and red clad figure of Superman.

 

 

When most people discussed Superman’s abilities, even those who knew him, they tended to focus on his flashy powers: flight, speed, apparently limitless strength, invulnerability, even his ability to survive in space. They didn’t give much thought to the things that were normal abilities for them, and enhanced in him, such as his senses. For Clark, those were the things that had set him apart for as long as he could remember.

His hearing, as closely as he could tell, worked through the same biological mechanisms as human hearing. His was just many times more sensitive and had a greater range. He could hear subsonics that humans didn't hear but felt as vibrations, and ultrasonics far above the normal human range. His sense of taste was similarly oversensitive.

But his eyesight wasn’t like human sight at all. Clark understood how humans saw the world: he had seen paintings and photographs and understood that they were an accurate representation of human vision. He had trained himself to see the surfaces that humans did, but that took concentration. “Normal” vision for him went past the surfaces and encompassed everything that lay beneath. A face wasn’t the colours of skin and eyes, the shape of a mouth and nose. It was the unique pattern of blood and muscle and bone layered beneath flesh.

So when he finally came face-to-face with Batman, the black mask that concealed his identity from everyone else was all but irrelevant. Clark had known he would be able to see through it, that this criminal vigilante could not conceal his identity from Kryptonian eyes. What he had not expected, based on everything he had learned about the Batman, was that the face beneath the mask would be one he knew.

“Bruce Wayne?” The words slipped out before he could bite his tongue. A moment later, he thought, _Of course. Who else could it be?_ Their brief conversation in the Capitol was burned into his memory, which Wayne had intended, he was sure. Every single day since then something happened that brought Wayne’s words to Clark’s mind: _one bad day_. When Clark slept, he woke with those words ringing from his dreams. Now he understood where the fury behind those words came from.

Batman froze at the sound of his real name. Their eyes met for a moment before he whirled and ran for the edge of the roof. Clark thought he was going to jump again, but instead Batman stopped, leaning over, searching the street.

“The man I was following. Do you see him?”

Clark scanned the street below quickly. “No, he's gone.”

“He was carrying radioactive material. I've got to stop him before - ”

Clark interrupted, “No, he wasn't. At least not when I arrived.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“The man: dark hair, a lot of tattoos, carrying a backpack?”

“Yes.”

“There was nothing like that in his pack. I would have seen it. Even if it was in a lead-lined container, I’d be able to see enough to identify it.”

Batman turned to face him and rested his body against the wall that edged the roof. Clark heard his heartbeat slow down, his breathing steady. The adrenaline was leaving his system, draining him of energy.

Batman reached up and pulled the bat mask off. “That doesn’t make sense. He didn’t have time to hand it off. Are you certain?”

“Yes. Could he be a decoy?” Clark suggested.

He scowled. “Could be. It would explain why they were ready for me. Or there's a hole in my intel.” He drew in a deep breath. “Did you see who cut the rope?”

Clark had seen it happen. “It wasn’t exactly cut. Wait here.” He flew from the roof without waiting for a reply. He hovered for half a second, scanning, then dived to retrieve the thing he’d seen. He returned to the roof and offered the object to Bruce. “The rope was cut with this. I did see the archer, but not clearly enough to be helpful. A white male, pale hair, dressed in black. Catching you seemed more important than catching him.”

“Hard to argue with that.” Bruce examined the arrow, frowning.”There’s only one man I know this good with a bow, but he has no reason to want me dead.” He slid the arrow through a loop on his belt.

“Are you sure about radioactive material being smuggled in?” Clark asked.

Bruce nodded. “There’s a ship in the harbour called _The White Portuguese_. I’ve got the paper trail to prove she was smuggling something. Could have been a bomb or the materials to make one.”

This was not how Clark wanted his first encounter with Batman to go. He meant to confront him about his methods but the potential threat Bruce described was enough to persuade him to table that discussion for another time.

“I don’t know if I can track something like that, but I’ll fly to the dock and try.”

“Good.” Bruce pulled his mask back on. “I need to get my car before the cops do. If you find anything, will you let me know?”

“I will.” Clark turned, preparing to take off.

Batman called him back. “Clark. Thank you. For the save.”

“Don't make me regret it.” He took off, speeding toward the docks.

Only later did he realise that Batman had called him Clark, not Superman, at the end.

 

 

#### Metropolis

Lois woke to an empty bed but when she smelled coffee and freshly baked bread she instantly forgave Clark for letting her wake alone. She showered quickly and walked into the kitchenette in her robe, little beads of water visible on her exposed skin.

“That smells wonderful,” she said. There was fresh coffee in her French press and fresh flowers on the table. Everything was perfect.

Clark came over and kissed her. “I got in late and thought this was better than waking you.”

She poured coffee into a mug. “How late?”

“After dawn.”

“Did something happen?”

“It was, uh, a weird night. What would you like for breakfast?”

“The bread smells lovely, but...”

“If you say ‘carbs’ I’m making your favourite waffles instead,” Clark threatened with a grin.

She made a face. “Fine. I’ll do an extra hour at the gym. Not everyone has your metabolism, you know.”

He piled bread rolls into a serving basket and set them on the table next to the vase. “Smoked salmon, cheese or jelly?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t you dare serve me jelly at this hour.”

The rolls were so fresh that steam escaped when she broke one open. She spread it with cheese, silently promising herself she would skip lunch, and took a bite. It was as delicious as it smelled.

Lois waited until Clark was sat down and had begun to eat before she spoke again. “Are you going to tell me about your night?”

“I flew over to Gotham,” Clark said, spreading jelly on his second roll. “I ran into the Batman.”

“You mean you went looking for him?” Lois expected he would, sooner or later. He had been researching the stories about Gotham’s famous vigilante since the shipyard incident a few months earlier. The Batman shot a couple of pedophiles and branded one of them. He’d saved several children, but his methods bothered Clark. He believed in the legal system and saw the Batman as no better than the criminals he hunted. As Superman, Clark was being very careful to avoid being seen as a crime fighter.

“I wasn’t looking. I was just flying when I heard shots and a traffic accident and went to see if I could help. It wasn’t bad, so as soon as EMT’s got there I left. Just in time to see Batman jumping off a building and someone sliced through his rope with an arrow.”

Lois’s eyes went wide. “Robin Hood tried to kill Batman?”

“Not Robin Hood, but yeah, someone. I caught him. Batman, not the archer.” Clark shook his head. “I keep thinking, maybe I’m going to regret that someday. But I couldn’t let him fall.”

“If you’d let him die, you’d be regretting that a lot more,” Lois pointed out. “Why do you think you might regret saving him?”

“Because I recognised him, Lois. I saw through the mask as easily as you see through a window.”

What had been an interesting anecdote suddenly became a supernova in Lois’s mind. “Oh, my god! You know who he is? Clark, that’s huge!”

Clark took a bite of his roll, avoiding her eyes.

That was weird. Lois went on, “I was a rookie at the _Gotham Free Press_ before I got the job at the _Planet_. Back then the popular theory was that there were several men who used the Batman identity.”

Clark shook his head. “That’s logical, but I don’t think so.”

And then she understood his hesitation. “You don’t want to tell me who you saw.” She made it a statement, not a question, a little hurt that he didn’t trust her.

“I do want to, Lois, but... I know it’s a scoop. But we can’t print this. Promise me.”

He shouldn’t have to ask. “It’s your story, Clark. I would never try to scoop you!”

“I know you wouldn’t. This is bigger than that.”

She _had_ to know who it was. Who could possibly affect Clark so much?

Lois said, “I keep all your secrets, Clark. I’ll keep this one, too.”

Clark pushed his plate away. “I’m sorry, but I had to ask. Like I said, it was a weird night.” He drew in a deep breath. “It was Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce Wayne.

Before she met Clark, the suggestion would have made her laugh. Bruce Wayne was a trust fund brat, a playboy, more likely to be found in the tabloids than in his own boardroom. But Clark saw the Gotham billionaire very differently, partly because of that photograph Jimmy managed to snap of him the day after the invasion, when Wayne joined the clean-up crews in Metropolis, and partly because of what Wayne said to him in the Capitol. Lois knew that brief conversation had distressed Clark a great deal.

It did make a kind of sense. If Bruce Wayne’s wastrel image were as much a cultivated mask as the Bat, then it did fit. It meant the mask was beginning to slip, and the Bruce Wayne whose testimony in the senate was so devastating was the real man behind the masks.

“I should have guessed sooner,” Clark said. “In that meeting, when I singled him out, Wayne said, ‘why are you asking me?’ and his heart sped up. He was scared. He thought I chose him because I knew then that he was Batman.”

“Does knowing who he is change how you feel about it? I mean, the story you were planning?”

“I don’t think so. It’s going to be harder to be objective, but it doesn’t change the facts of what he’s done.”

“Then I think the next step is to see if it’s possible to prove who he is.” Seeing Clark about to object, she went on quickly, “I’m not saying you have to print it, but you should have the choice, Clark. Investigative journalism is as much about choosing what to hold back as it is about getting the story out. Knowing who Batman is makes finding the evidence much easier.”

Clark nodded, but Lois sensed his reluctance. Something more had changed. Clark was usually eager to talk things over with her; this time he was holding back. Whatever it was, he was still figuring things out for himself. So Lois tried to suppress her own curiosity, at least for now.

“This is delicious,” she said, transparently changing the subject.

Clark smiled. “Thanks.” He drank some coffee and made a visible effort to shake off his mood. “So, tell me about _your_ night. Did your contact get back to you?”

Lois suddenly felt nervous. “Yes. But it’s a good news/bad news thing.”

“The good news is...?”

“Amal believes the General will meet with me. He isn’t happy with the Western media painting him as a terrorist and wants to tell his side of the story.”

“He _is_ a terrorist,” Clark said. “If he agrees to an interview on the expectation that you’ll write something he’ll approve of, you could be in danger.”

“I know.”

“And that's your idea of the _good_ news? What’s the bad news?”

Lois glanced down at her plate then made herself meet his eyes. “They won’t negotiate a meeting by email or phone. They think it could be intercepted by their government. It has to be in person.”

Clark thought that over. “You have to go to Africa in order to negotiate the meeting?”

“Yes.”

“Perry won't pay for that. Not unless you have a firm commitment first.”

“No. But Amal _did_ say I could send someone to negotiate for me.”

“Oh. I see.” Clark grinned. “You want _me_ to go, Superman-express.”

Lois smiled hopefully. “Well, Perry doesn’t have to know the details and it shouldn’t take long. Once we’ve confirmed the meeting, he’ll agree to pay the expenses. I know it’s a big ask...”

“No, it makes sense. If you have to negotiate with terrorists, send the guy they can’t hurt.”

Lois smiled. She knew Clark didn’t like her being on this story, and to his credit he had never tried to stop her from pursuing it. “Thanks, Clark.”

“What about Luthor? Has he confirmed your interview yet?”

“Tomorrow evening,” Lois agreed. “We’re expected at five for the photoshoot, and we’ll do the interview afterwards. There’s no problem with you coming along. He said he’s looking forward to meeting you.”

Lois knew Clark would hear the relief in her voice. She didn’t know why Lex creeped her out so much, but she absolutely didn’t want to be alone with him. If he had objected to Clark accompanying her to the interview, she would still have asked Clark to be nearby; that was how strongly she felt about Lex.

“I’m surprised he even recognises my name,” Clark commented.

“I think he’s one of those people who researches everything before he agrees to a meeting. You'll be free?”

“Of course I will.”

 

 

#### Gotham City

How do you ask someone if he tried to murder you last night? It wasn’t the kind of question that can casually drop into conversation. _How ’bout those Broncos? It’s raining in Gotham. By the way, you didn’t happen to be in town last night when I nearly plummeted to my death, did ya?_

Hard enough to ask that kind of question of an enemy. When it was a friend...well, former ally, anyway...it was much harder.

Bruce made the call from his office at Wayne Enterprises, framing it as one businessman to another. He couldn't think of a single reason for Oliver to be involved, but if he _was_ , this might at least send the message that Bruce wasn't declaring war. Even then, he felt ridiculous asking the question.

But Oliver’s answer was instantly reassuring. “Bruce,” he said, and even through the phone Bruce could hear that he was grinning, “if I had a reason to want to kill you, I would not forego the pleasure of punching you in the face.”

Bruce chuckled with relief. “No, I guess you wouldn't. I didn't really think it was you. I just don't know anyone else in the world who could have taken that shot.”

“Why? What happened?” There was no laughter in Oliver’s voice now.

Bruce explained the ambush, from the breadcrumb trail that led him to the _White Portuguese_ to the hood with the flamethrower on the roof, and his subsequent fall. He was able to leave out the part where Superman saved his ass because Oliver interrupted him.

“In the dark?” Oliver said sharply when Bruce described the shot that broke his batline.

“It was above a well-lit street, but yes, it was night.”

“Street lighting makes aiming tricky if you’re high up. The reflections can be deceptive. Was it raining?”

“No. Overcast but not wet.”

“Well, you're right, it's a nearly impossible shot. I think I could do it. But I didn't.”

“Who else could?”

“The only one I'm sure of is dead. A couple of the old League, maybe. No one who should be in this hemisphere. Are you sure it was an archer?”

“I have the arrow.”

“Why didn't you say so? Send me an image and your analysis of the materials. I'll identify your archer.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Good luck, Bruce. Watch your back. I don’t want you to die before I can call in the favour.”

 

 

#### Metropolis

They arrived at Lex Luthor’s mansion, a white-painted house of elegant curves, in two cars because Jimmy planned to leave when the photoshoot was over while Lois would stay to conduct her interview. That way, Jimmy could do the digital enhancement work on the photos and have a selection ready for Lois to consider while she wrote her first piece. Lois drove her own car, with Clark beside her.

Clark was curious about the young man who had so quickly become one of the most prominent leaders of Metropolis, and was looking forward to meeting him. He knew that Luthor’s father was a casualty of Zod’s invasion. Since his death, LexCorp had led the efforts to rebuild Metropolis. After the initial government-led efforts to recover survivors and the dead, and to make the damaged buildings safe, several prominent companies including LexCorp and Wayne Enterprises stepped in to organise a more extensive clearance and rebuilding. A recovery fund was established which organised donations of food and other essentials for citizens affected by the disaster, and Lex had donated generously from his personal wealth. LexCorp created jobs for people whose work had disappeared with the buildings and leased space at generous rates to companies displaced by the reconstruction work. It was unclear how much of that had been at Lex Luthor's instigation as he hadn't joined the LexCorp board until a few months after the invasion, but he had certainly led the publicity campaign currently running, designed to bring more business and investment to the city.

It was an impressive record for such a young man and it couldn't have been easy for him to have so much responsibility thrust on him when he was only twenty. Clark knew a little about how that felt.

On the other hand, Lois had very good instincts about people and she saw Luthor very differently. She hadn’t said she was afraid of him, but she didn’t want to do this interview without Clark being with her. He didn’t think he was there as her boyfriend this time. No, she wanted Superman close by, and that spoke volumes.

They were met at the door by Lex himself, who welcomed them like old friends. It was a bit over the top, as if he were on the wrong page of a script, and Clark began to see why Lois was wary of him.

It was Jimmy who got them on track, placing himself between Lois and Lex to explain how the photoshoot would work. He had a lot of lighting equipment and tripods, but he preferred to work in natural light and get pictures that were real, not posed.

Still, they did some studio shots first with Jimmy keeping up a constant stream of chatter to keep Lex focussed on him while Clark and Lois did their best to stay out of the way. When Jimmy was satisfied, he showed Lex the results on the small viewscreen on the back of the camera.

“I’ll do some digital enhancement back at the _Planet_ ,” he explained. “Nothing major, you don’t need it. Just some work on the lighting and contrast, maybe a little airbrushing if we’re going to do a full-page print. You’ll see.”

“That sounds fine,” Lex agreed.

“Now, let’s get some pictures of the real Lex Luthor. What do you do for fun?”

“I don’t know. I’m a bit of a nerd, really.”

“You look like you keep yourself fit. You work out?”

“Goodness, no. I run a little. Toss a ball around. There’s a basketball hoop in the back.”

Jimmy grinned. “That sounds perfect. Why don’t we head out there and toss a ball around?”

...Which was how Clark ended up playing basketball one-on-one against the wealthiest man in Metropolis. Jimmy danced around them, his camera constantly clicking. Lois watched from the sidelines and laughed every time Clark dropped the ball or fell over his own feet. Lex was a pretty good player and scored two baskets for each one Clark managed to sink. For Clark, the real challenge was making his fumbling about look real.

Eventually, Jimmy called a halt. “That’s great, guys. Take a look.” Once again, he offered the camera to Lex.

Clark, feigning being out of breath, moved closer so he could see the pictures as Jimmy scrolled through. Jimmy was good, and had framed Clark out of nearly every shot. He stopped at one which showed Lex with one arm outstretched, the ball just leaving his hand on its way to the basket. Lex’s eyes were on the ball, his expression intensely focussed.

“Look at that,” Jimmy grinned. “That’s the side of you I wanted to capture. Lex Luthor, reaching for the sky.”

Lex shrugged indifferently. “You’re the photographer.” He slapped Clark’s shoulder. “Good game, man.” He clapped his hands. “I guess I need to shower before we get down to the business of the evening. Unlike this guy - ” he jerked a thumb toward Clark, “ - I sweat when I work out.”

Yeah, that was hard to fake. Clark adjusted his glasses, half-turning away to hide the fact that Lex was exactly right: he didn’t break a sweat playing that game.

Lex beckoned and his dark-haired bodyguard, Ms Graves, approached them. “Show our friends inside, Mercy. I’ll join you as quickly as I can.”

Clark helped Jimmy pack away his equipment and then Jimmy headed out, leaving Clark and Lois alone in the room. It was a living room, Clark supposed, but it was bigger than his entire apartment. Couches were arranged in sections around the room, enough seating for thirty people, the television screen was almost big enough to make the room a cinema, and there was a well-stocked bar. Food had been laid out: the kind of canapes and petit fours served at cocktail parties.

Clark selected a couch and sat down in the middle of it, spreading his arms across the backrest. “He certainly lives well,” he remarked.

“He can afford to,” Lois agreed, sitting opposite him. “He seems lonely, though. I mean, look at this room.”

“All set to entertain a large group of friends,” Clark agreed, “but it’s pristine, hardly ever used.”

“He got a kick out of your basketball game.”

Clark gave a knowing smile. “I bet he did. I got my ass handed to me.”

“You need more practice, Clark,” Lois smiled back.

“Hm. I think I’m better off with athletics than contact sports.”

“Let me guess. High jump?” Lois said archly, then giggled.

Moments later, Lex reappeared. He had changed into a green and white striped t-shirt over white linen pants. He still wore the same battered Converse sneakers. No watch on his wrist, but he was wearing a signet ring on his right hand. Clark couldn’t recall if he’d been wearing the ring earlier.

Lex gave them both a wide smile. “And here we are again!” he announced, claiming a seat beside Lois. He leaned back into the soft leather. “So, it’s your show, Lois. I’m an open book.”

Lois was using her phone to record the interview, but she used a notebook and pen, too. She tapped the pen against her lips. “You are about to become CEO of LexCorp. It’s a Fortune 500 company with international reach and you’ve fought hard to get the CEO seat.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. The board were reluctant to trust the company to someone so young, but my father built LexCorp from nothing. He wanted me to take over and continue his work.”

“But isn’t that contrary to his will?” Lois pressed.

“No,” Lex snapped. “That’s one of the rumours I hope you’ll help me lay to rest. That will was written and filed when I was twelve, Lois. Of course I was too young then. My father made some small changes to the will last year, but I suppose he saw no reason to update the trust fund clause. After all, he was in excellent health.”

“So he told you he wanted you to take over.”

“That was what he always wanted, for me to be CEO after him. Now I am.”

“What are your plans for the company?”

“Well, in the short term LexCorp will be making some significant investments to secure the future of Metropolis. We’ve done great work rebuilding but there is so much more to be done.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I want to bring more cutting edge technology and research into Metropolis,” Lex began. He played with the signet ring on his hand as he began to talk about his plans in more detail.

Clark tuned out what he was saying and focussed his hearing outside the mansion. It could be overwhelming: the city was so big and at any time, even at night, there were more people in need of help than he could possibly answer. He had learned to sort through the voices swiftly, to ignore most so that he could respond when he truly was needed. In doing so, he found that sometimes he could hear things far less distressing. He heard children playing a few miles away from the mansion: a good-natured argument over which of them would get to be Superman in their game. They settled it with a race and he heard the flapping of an improvised cape as their play-acting began in earnest. These were the things that reminded him he made the right choice: that no matter what the rich and powerful had to say, Superman was giving people hope, and something good to reach for.

That was when Clark felt a dart of pain across his eye and abruptly brought his attention back to the room he was in. He raised a hand to his forehead. His vision darkened and the pain came again. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple without thinking. He was not invulnerable to pain - if his body was damaged, he felt it, just like any human. But pain out of nowhere, with no apparent cause, was outside Clark’s experience.

Lois noticed him rubbing his temple. “Clark? Are you okay?”

He couldn’t fully explain with Luthor in the room. So Clark lowered his hand. “It’s just a headache,” he said, as if that was nothing. He tried to stand and felt a rush of vertigo. “I think I need to get some air.”

He saw Lois’s look as he passed her. She was thinking that Clark intended to fly off, when he had promised her he wouldn’t leave her alone with Lex Luthor. He would explain later.

One of Lex’s security people followed him at a discreet distance as Clark headed to the back of the house. Once he was outside, he began to feel better. The pain was gone, and the weird feeling of vertigo faded more slowly. It was disturbing because he didn't understand it. He couldn’t recall ever feeling like that before. His powers made him appear sick a lot during his childhood, when something was so overwhelming he couldn’t handle it, but those episodes always had an explanation. Clark never caught human diseases and had yet to discover any kind of toxin or poison that affected him. He couldn't even get drunk.

Except whatever was in the air in the first few days after he defeated Zod. Clark still wasn’t sure what that had been. Some kind of pollution thrown off by the Kryptonian ships, Lois had guessed. He had been unwell for a few days: easily tired, some trouble breathing when he flew too high; but then it cleared and he’d more or less forgotten about it.

That didn’t explain why he felt ill now, nor why he recovered so quickly.

Conscious that Lois believed she was alone, although he was still listening in, making sure she was okay as he promised, Clark returned to the room. They had covered almost everything on Lois’s list of topics; she should have more than enough material for the series Perry wanted to publish.

Lois looked up as he entered the room, and Clark could see she was angry with him for leaving. She said nothing, though.

“There’s just one more thing I want to talk about, Lex. You weren’t in Metropolis on the day of the invasion, were you?”

“No.” The word was clipped, a warning that she was close to something he did not want to talk about. “I was at school. Harvard, of course.” He made a dismissive sound. “CalTech was my choice, but of course it had to be Harvard.”

“Could you tell me about that day, from your perspective?”

He rose from the couch and walked a few steps away from her. “A college campus is like a world of its own. That’s one reason I didn’t go back. When that alien message was broadcast, I thought - we all thought - that it was a prank. It wasn’t until the attack on Metropolis started that I knew it was real. If I’d believed it earlier, I might have headed home and...” he gave an odd laugh. “But I didn’t and I’m here to talk about it.”

He turned to face Lois. “I came home as soon as the flight ban was lifted. This house wasn’t touched, of course, but I never thought of this as home. Home was the city, and that’s gone. We can rebuild it, but it will never be the same.”

He hadn’t mentioned his father, Clark noticed. He knew the impact losing his own father had on him. There were some parallels with him and Lex, though he would never have said so out loud. He was close to Lex’s age when it happened, and both of their fathers died in major disasters. He thought Lex’s focus on the fact that he hadn't been at home might suggest some degree of survivor’s guilt; the difference was that Clark _knew_ he could have saved his father. For him it had been a choice. Lex couldn’t have made a difference if he had been there.

Lois had noticed the omission, too, but she didn’t pursue it. That was unlike her, and she must have a reason.

“It won’t be the same,” she agreed, “but it can be better.”

Lex snapped his fingers. “That’s the plan, Lois. You’ve seen the campaign to bring more investment into the city, but that’s just the start. There is so much opportunity if we just have the courage to _take_ it!” He snatched at thin air as he spoke, illustrating his words.

Lois jerked back from the gesture. Clark stayed where he was with an effort.

Lex laughed. “Oh, did I scare you?”

“You startled me.” Lois reached for her phone and looked across to Clark, who nodded. They had stayed long enough.

“I think I have more than enough for one interview, Lex. Thank you very much for your time.”

“I enjoyed our evening together.” Lex rose from the couch and as he did, the door opened and Mercy Graves slipped inside. The timing was too perfect; she had been listening.

“Mr Luthor,” she said simply.

“Yes, I’m ready. Please show my guests to their car.”

 

 

As soon as they were through the gate, Clark said, “I know you think I left you, but I didn’t. I wasn’t faking, Lois.”

She took her eyes off the road to glance at him quickly. “Then what happened?”

“I don't know. My head hurt and I felt dizzy. Just for a couple of minutes. I feel fine now.”

“Did something trigger it?”

“Nothing I noticed. It couldn’t have been something in the room because we were there earlier and I was fine. I didn’t eat or drink anything. I don’t know, Lois.”

She was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Well, I _was_ upset when I thought you were making an excuse to fly off somewhere, but I also knew you wouldn’t do that without a good reason. We’re okay, Clark. And if you feel fine now...I guess we just wait and see if it happens again?”

There wasn't much else he could do. It wasn’t as if he could go see a doctor for reassurance. “I agree.”

She turned the car onto the highway that would take them back to the city. “What did you make of Lex Luthor?”

Clark knew that question was coming and he wasn’t sure it was wise to give her an honest answer. But he couldn’t lie to Lois. “I think he’s a dangerous man.”

Once again, she turned to stare at him. “Dangerous?”

“You were there, Lois.”

“Yes, he’s a bit weird and he’s got a ruthless streak, but why dangerous? Why that word?”

Clark looked at the road ahead of them, marshalling his thoughts. “If someone asked you about my relationship with my father, how much could you tell them?”

Lois answered quickly. “I know he loved you. And you love him. I know you feel guilty about his death and you will probably always blame yourself for that. I know he did his best to protect you, that he wasn’t always right but he wanted the best for you.”

Clark smiled. “You never knew him, but you have a sense of who he was, right?”

“Yes.”

“Lex gave me no sense at all of who his father was. He seems to talk about him a lot but there's no content to it. He never said Dad or Pop or any of the words children use for their fathers. He doesn’t even call him by name. Just ‘my father’ as if the man had no existence other than to sire a son.”

“He wasn’t exactly father of the year, Clark.”

“But they had a relationship. Good or bad, he should have been an influence on his son’s life. You asked him about the day his father died and he didn’t even mention it. He talked about his college campus and the city. Not the people who died. And there’s something else.”

“What?”

“When I got that headache, both of you noticed, but he didn’t react. You did. You were annoyed with me, but you still asked if I was okay even though you know I don’t get sick. Luthor doesn’t know that, but he showed no concern at all. He looked at me like I was a lab rat.”

Lois frowned. “You’re saying he has no empathy.”

“Exactly. There’s a word for that: psychopath. And with the kind of money and power he has, that makes him very dangerous.”

“That’s not a story I can print,” Lois said.

“I wasn’t suggesting you should. Perry would say the _Planet_ can’t afford that lawsuit and I’m afraid he’s right. You’d have to have an absolutely airtight case before you could print it. But I understand why you wanted me with you tonight.”

Lois smiled. “I’m really glad you were there. Jimmy owes you a favour, too. Do you want to head straight home, or shall we go somewhere? I don’t have to start work on the profile until morning.”

“If you think you can manage to go a whole evening without working, I think we should go straight home. Maybe stop for take out and some wine.”

“Promise you won’t fly anywhere?”

“Tonight, my love, I’m all yours.”

 

 

Lex poured a glass of bourbon and drank it straight down. He sat in his father’s leather chair and carefully worked the signet ring from his finger. He held it up before his eyes and turned it over. Beneath the signet was a tiny catch that sprang open at his touch, revealing the glowing green stone within. When the signet was closed, the kryptonite was entirely enclosed in a thin layer of lead. All Lex had needed to do was crack it open and the effect on Clark Kent was immediate.

He hadn’t needed further proof that Kent was Superman. The information Bruce Wayne unwittingly provided him when Lex hacked into his server was more than enough. But Lex _had_ needed to be sure that this alien mineral would indeed affect Superman. It worked better than he hoped.

Now he had a larger supply of kryptonite and that would allow him to work on more detailed experiments. There were so many wonderful possibilities! But the key fact was now confirmed: he had a weapon to use against Superman.

It was a pity his efforts across the bay had been less successful, but the unexpected success of his kryptonite gave him an idea for a different approach. He closed his fist around the ring and squeezed hard. He would succeed.

And when Bruce Wayne and the Batman were dead, Gotham’s underworld would be his for the taking.

 

 

Superman rose swiftly into the sky above the Nairomi desert. There were no clouds here to shield him from view but he didn't want to wait for dark. So he flew quickly, straight up, until the punishing heat gave way to freezing air at altitude, and further into the very edge of the atmosphere. There was very little air to breathe here, but enough that he was still comfortable. From there he could circle the Earth unseen until he saw the familiar coast of North America below. It didn't take long. He turned and flew downward, exerting almost no effort as the Earth’s gravity did most of the work for him, until he slowed his descent over the Metropolis bay and flew toward the city. Here, he flew more slowly, letting himself be seen as he entered the city itself. He flew among the skyscrapers, past the Daily Planet offices to confirm that Lois wasn’t there. Jimmy was, and Superman heard the click of his camera as the young photographer saw him fly past. That was what made Jimmy such a great photo journalist: he was quick to grasp each chance and he could frame a perfect shot quickly. Maybe not every shot came out, but enough did.

He flew onward and saw with no surprise that Lois was watching for him from her apartment window. He was a little late, but it had been necessary to take the extra time in Nairomi.

“You’re late!” she accused, before his feet touched the rug.

“I know.” He took in her appearance quickly: not just her expression but all the other little physiological clues to her mood. Any hope he might have entertained that he could talk her out of doing this interview vanished. Not that he had much hope to begin with. Lois was on the scent of a huge story; she would pursue it with the same dogged determination with which she pursued him before he was Superman.

“Please don’t keep me waiting.”

“It’s fine, Lois. The meeting is on, and I’ve got all the information. Give me a moment to ditch the cape and I’ll tell you everything.”

She was impatient, but Clark could be stubborn too and he would do this in his way. So as he relaxed into a corner of the couch, he affected a casual tone and asked, “Tell me, Lois, why does Amal think you're a man?”

She coloured and he knew the answer.

Lois said, “He assumed. I didn’t correct him. Did you tell him?”

Clark already regretted not correcting that assumption, but he shook his head. “No, but you won’t be able to keep up the pretence, Lois.”

“I know that. But - ”

“Let me finish. One of the conditions of the meeting is you have to wear appropriate clothing. They expect you to blend in with their own people. For a woman, that means a hijab.”

She made a face but said, “I figured. That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. Because if you’re unaccompanied, in that culture, that sends a signal. You’d be deliberately putting yourself in danger before you even meet the General.”

She dropped her gaze and Clark knew she had already thought of that. Damn her!

“Lois?”

“It’s my job, Clark. Are you going to ask me not to go?”

“If I thought you’d listen to me, I would. Alright, here’s the deal. You are allowed to bring a photographer but cameras have to be film. Nothing digital. No cell phones or digital recording devices. Nothing with GPS. Since the General is considered a fugitive they will kill you if you violate that rule.”

Lois nodded. “I expected that. It’s fine. Jimmy and I have worked like that before.”

“They want you to check in to a specific hotel and wait to be contacted. No set date for the meeting, they’ll show up when they’re ready and take you to the compound. You’ll meet with the General and they will take you back afterward. You are required to leave the country immediately.”

“That won’t be feasible unless we charter a flight. We could do that, though. A charter won’t break the budget. Head for Johannesburg and fly back to the US from there.”

Clark nodded. “There was more, but that’s the essentials. I’ve got it all written down for you.”

“Thank you. I’m really grateful you - ”

“I’m not done. I flew over the compound while I was out there.”

“And?”

“Honestly, I’m afraid for you, Lois. He has some very sophisticated weaponry there. Not just guns and bombs. They’ve got drones. Their power supply is patchy so they can’t use them but they’re working on that. I couldn’t say for sure from the air but I think a lot of it is American made. He’s got backing from someone with a lot of money to waste.”

“We know he has good weapons, but US backing? That’s news, Clark. Are we talking CIA?”

“I couldn’t tell you based on what I could see from the air. If you ask him that...”

“Clark, this isn’t my first day. I know there are some questions I can’t ask. What about the people at the compound?”

“About a hundred, mostly men. Not all of them are there willingly. He raids the surrounding villages for slaves.”

“I know,” Lois said, her voice softer. “I have reports from a few people in the area. It’s one of the things I can safely expose, after the interview.”

Clark said nothing, but it was an effort.

“What’s your plan?” she asked.

“I’m not letting you go in there unprotected. I’m serious, Lois. I saw enough to be certain it’s too dangerous. But I know you need to do this, so I’ll keep my distance unless you need help.” _Until_ you need help, he wanted to say, but bit back that impulse. She wasn’t ready to hear him.

“Okay. I’ll talk to Perry tomorrow.”

 

 

Jimmy left the _Daily Planet_ offices that evening feeling super-pumped. He would have the opportunity to photograph General Amajagh, one of the most controversial figures on the world stage since Arafat died. Terrorist or freedom fighter? Perhaps neither, perhaps both. Lois had scored an amazing scoop, and Jimmy was going with her!

He took the metro home and bought a bucket of fried chicken from the take-out at the station exit. He picked out one chicken piece and tucked the bucket under his arm. Biting into the hot chicken, he glanced around the street, taking in the familiar scene: the teenagers hanging out on fire escapes; the winos among dumpsters in the alley below; the newsagent on the corner; people on the streets, going about their usual business.

Even in a city as prosperous as Metropolis, there were poor areas. This was one of them. Most of the people living there were minimum-wage workers. The majority were first or second generation immigrants. The people were poor, but it was a good neighbourhood. People talked to each other and helped each other out. The mix of cultures fascinated Jimmy and he had lots of opportunities to learn other languages and customs. He loved living here. But where there’s poverty, there is crime, and in this area, Jimmy was rich. He had been robbed several times on his way home, so he was vigilant when he walked these streets. He noticed the black sedan parked across the street from the metro station, because it was much too nice for this area: shiny, with tinted windows. He noticed the man in the leather coat leaning against the wall near the newsagent’s booth, probably convinced he was inconspicuous. He guessed they were waiting for someone.

Jimmy’s Nikon was locked up safely at the _Daily Planet_ , but he had a camera on his smartphone that was good enough. He had taken photographs before when there was trouble on the streets. Occasionally he captured a story worth following up. More often his pictures had been useful to the police. If something was about to happen here, it was worth a shot or two. Jimmy wiped chicken off his fingers and slipped his hand into his pocket for the phone.

That was when the sedan across the street started to move and someone bumped into Jimmy from behind. His phone flew from his hand. Someone grabbed his arm before he could reach for it.

“No sudden moves, Mr Olsen,” a female voice said, her grip on his elbow like iron.

Something that could only be the barrel of a gun pressed into Jimmy’s side. It wasn’t the first time he’d been on the wrong end of a gun, so Jimmy didn’t panic. He did freeze in place. “Who are you?”

The sedan pulled alongside Jimmy and his captor.

“Get in, Mr Olsen.”

“No fucking way,” he scoffed, in spite of the gun. At least in a public street he had witnesses.

Someone inside the sedan opened its rear door.

The gun pressed more firmly into his side. “Get in, Mr Olsen. No harm will come to you.”

“Says the lady with a gun on me,” he pointed out, but he knew he was pushing his luck. Reluctantly, he got into the car. As he climbed in, the woman took his bucket of chicken and slammed the door behind him.

“Hey!” Jimmy protested automatically. He went for the door handle, intent on getting his supper back. There was a click as the lock engaged, trapping him inside the car. “Shit!”

Jimmy turned to see who was in the car with him. “This was a hell of a lot of trouble just to steal my food,” he grumbled. “What the hell is going on?”

He was looking at a bald, African-American man wearing a dark business suit. The man took an ID wallet from his pocket, flipped it open and silently offered it to Jimmy.

Jimmy took the ID and examined the contents. It looked authentic and it identified the man as Agent Thomas Lauder, Central Intelligence Agency. Jimmy swallowed, his throat dry.

“Y-you’re CIA?” he croaked.

“I am.” The car moved into the normal traffic flow and Lauder extended a hand for his ID. “Are you ready to serve your country, Mr Olsen?”

Jimmy knew this had to be connected with his trip to Nairomi with Lois. General Amajagh had not attacked on US soil, but the US did consider him a terrorist and several Americans had died in bombings attributed to him abroad.

Jimmy met the agent’s eyes and answered cautiously. “I’m a journalist. I’d say that is serving the American people.”

“We need you to serve a little more directly.”

Jimmy snorted. “Sure you do.” Where were they taking him? He looked out of the car windows, and they were still in his neighbourhood. Fat lot of good that would do him when he couldn’t get out of the damned car.

“We know about your arrangements in Nairomi.”

Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, I figured. Whatever you want, you can forget about it. I’m not going to put my partner’s life at risk. Not for anything.”

Agent Lauder said quietly, “You’ll be protecting her, Mr Olsen. Do you know how many journalists have been kidnapped by these groups?”

Jimmy hesitated. “General Amajagh doesn’t use kidnapping, of journalists or otherwise,” he objected.

“He hasn’t _yet_ ,” Lauder corrected, “but then, this will be the first time a prominent American journalist has put herself in such a vulnerable position. Are you aware of how Amajagh’s people treat women?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy looked down. He did know, and so did Lois. She wasn’t afraid, and she should be. He sighed. “What is it you want?”

“A location.”

“He isn’t going to let us know where he is.”

“You’ll be taking a camera with you, will you not?”

Jimmy saw where this was going. “Yes, but we’ve been told nothing digital will be allowed.” A digital camera recorded metadata with each shot that included time and place. A good digital camera, like Jimmy’s Nikon, could record the location precisely. But he wouldn’t have that option.

“You’ll be using thirty-five millimetre film,” Lauder said.

“Yes.”

Lauder produced a small box and offered it to Jimmy. “Four rolls of film. Each contains a tracking device that’s entirely inert until it’s activated. Undetectable.”

Jimmy took the box, handling it like it was about to explode. “You can’t possibly guarantee that,” he objected.

“Mr Olsen, you’re going to Nairomi. It’s not exactly Silicon Valley. Our technology is the best in the world.”

That was true. Jimmy opened the box and took out one of the film cartridges. Thirty five millimetre, film speed 400 ISO. It looked like a regular cartridge.

“How do I activate it?”

“Very simple. Load the film into the camera. It’s real and you can use it. Once it’s in the camera, the transponder will activate. If the General’s word is good, he lets you go and we know where he is. If, as seems more likely, you don’t return from his compound, we will be able to find you.”

Jimmy put the film back into the box. He knew he should refuse. It was too dangerous. The trip was risky enough without adding this. But he thought of Lois and her reckless confidence. He thought of what could happen to her if she were wrong.

“What do you say, Mr Olsen?”

He nodded. “Alright.”

When Lauder let him out of the car, they were right outside his apartment.

 

 

#### Nairomi

The hotel room had a balcony, but there wasn’t much of a view. All Lois could see was the shanty town that had grown up in the wreck of the city: tin and steel shelters among the bombed-out ruins. Beyond that, there was only sand. She adjusted the neckline of her blouse and wished Amajagh’s people had chosen a hotel that had air conditioning. She was wearing her lightest clothing: cotton slacks and a loose-fitting blouse, and it was still too hot. She ran her fingers through her auburn hair, combing it into a rough ponytail and pulled a band from her pocket to tie it. That would help a little, but she had to get out of the sun. Her fair skin couldn’t handle it for too long even with her best sunscreen.

Jimmy was sitting on the other bed, unloading his camera bag. He had packed all his usual gear, including the digital Nikon he was banned from taking to General Amajagh’s compound, but he also had an old manual camera. He took it out and screwed in a telephoto lens.

Jimmy pointed the camera at the wall. “My dad gave this camera to me for my eighteenth birthday. My first real SLR.” He pressed the shutter. The click was very loud.

“It’s a very photogenic wall,” Lois commented.

He grinned. “I haven’t loaded the film yet. Just checking the mechanics. It’s been a while since I’ve worked with film and longer since I used this baby, but you don’t forget your first.” He patted the lens and removed it from the camera body. He packed everything, including several rolls of film, into a padded bag.

Lois sat down on her bed. “I hate this waiting.” She reached for her wallet and extracted some cash and travellers’ cheques. “I’m going down to that little cafe.” She was dying for a cold drink.

“Just a moment. I’ll come with you,” Jimmy offered.

“It’s okay.”

Jimmy slung the camera bag over his shoulder and placed himself between Lois and the door. “Lois, you’re an amazing woman, but in this country if you go out there alone, dressed like that, you’re fair game. How about you wait until after the interview to piss on their rules?”

Lois knew he was right, but as much as she understood the need to respect the culture of the country she was in, it was hard to give in to rules she considered idiotic at best. She had reported from Iraq. She had been embedded with a battalion in Afghanistan. She did it all without pretending to be something she wasn’t.

But Jimmy was right. Lois picked up a headscarf and covered her hair, though in a style that owed more to 1950’s Vogue than to Islam. “Good enough?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Better button your blouse, too.”

In Metropolis, she would have punched him for that. Reluctantly, she buttoned the blouse to the neck and walked around him to the door.

The cafe was on the ground floor of the hotel, and had clearly once been a bar. No alcohol was served any more, of course, but they did have a range of cold drinks and ice. They ordered drinks and chose a table in the shade. Lois got out her notebook and began making some notes about her impressions of Nairomi.

In the capital, the presence of the military had been very obvious. There were armed men on every street, the blue berets of the UN forces mingling with the black of the new army that served the recently elected regime. That election was disputed, but the streets of the capital were peaceful, even if it was an armed peace. In the brief time they were there, Lois had seen women in bright dresses and headscarves carrying baskets and children on their hips as they walked the streets. She saw men in white jubbas and kufis driving to offices and boys playing games on street corners. It was no idyll, but the city showed a country bouncing back from Nairomi’s devastating civil war.

Outside the capital, what she saw was very different. Most of the population lived in small villages, scratching out a subsistence living from poisoned earth. There were herds of cattle and goats watched by men with missing limbs and children with haunted eyes. Women in the villages wore plain colours and covered their faces as well as their hair.

These were the people General Amajagh claimed to represent. In his version of the story, an illegitimate government stole the people’s livelihood in the name of taxation and gave them nothing in return. Having seen the land, if only from the window of a bus, Lois had some sympathy with the argument. She wasn’t sure how bombing embassies and tourist areas was supposed to help, though.

Finished, for the time being, Lois pocketed the notebook and finished her second drink.

“We’re being watched, Lois,” Jimmy said quietly.

That wasn’t surprising, but the warning immediately made Lois tense up. “Tell me,” she whispered back.

“Man in a ghutra across the street. White guy in uniform at the bar. Possibly the barkeep but he might just be watching you.”

“It’s not a bar. No alcohol.” She couldn’t see either of the men Jimmy described from where she sat. She scanned the other tables and the part of the street she could see. “Another man in the corner,” she whispered, “maybe. I haven’t been paying attention. Should we wait?”

“They could be government,” Jimmy suggested. “They shouldn’t know why we’re here.”

“Or they could be _his_ people.”

“If they are, we have to wait for their move.”

Lois nodded. “Maybe if we - ” She broke off as another man approached their table.

This man was quite young, his skin very dark, his hair shaved very short. He wore what in the US she would have pegged as army surplus: combat pants, t-shirt and a utility vest. Here, it probably wasn’t surplus, but she saw no visible indications that he was in the army: no insignia or badges. He didn’t even look at Lois but addressed Jimmy.

“Are you Lane?” He spoke with a heavy accent, but Lois understood him.

Jimmy looked at Lois, surprised.

Lois said, “I’m Lois Lane. This is my colleague and photographer, James Olsen.”

The man looked at her as if she were a talking dog or some such. “ _You’re_ Lane?”

“Would you like to see my passport?”

“No. If you lie, you won’t last long. I am Amal. You both come with me now.”

Lois felt her heart speed up. “I need to change my clothing.” She had been instructed to wear appropriate clothing and had an abaya and hijab in her luggage. She knew very well the token headscarf she was wearing didn’t qualify as _appropriate_.

“No!” Amal snapped. “You come now, or no meeting.”

Well, if he insisted... Lois stood. “We’re ready.”

Jimmy picked up his camera bag. “Yep. Ready.”

Amal led them to a shed on the outskirts of the shanty town Lois had observed earlier. Inside it was dark, hot and stuffy. More men with guns were waiting. They held an angry conversation, speaking rapidly in a language Lois didn’t understand. She glanced at Jimmy who shook his head slightly. He knew some African languages, but not whatever they were speaking.

Finally, one man pointed an automatic rifle at Lois, jerking it to indicate she should move. Her mouth dry, she took a single step in the direction she thought he wanted. He shouted something and repeated the gesture. She moved more quickly, ending up in the corner of the dark shack. He spoke again, in a milder tone. She wasn’t certain, but she thought he was telling her to stay put. She bowed her head to indicate acquiescence and he turned his back on her, apparently satisfied.

Meanwhile another man searched Jimmy, rough but thorough. He was clearly looking for bugs, not weapons, because he checked everything, even emptying Jimmy's wallet before replacing everything and returning it. Jimmy, Lois noticed, had left his credit cards back at their hotel room. He must have expected this.

Jimmy’s camera bag was next, and Lois saw him tense as the man dumped everything onto the dusty floor. Now that she knew the camera had sentimental value to him Lois understood his tension. As hardware it was old and expendable, but it was more than hardware to Jimmy. If they damaged it, a gift from his father couldn’t be replaced. She watched the man open up the camera and again, noticing that Jimmy had not yet loaded it with film, was surprised he had anticipated this so well. She expected to be searched, but not like this.

Amal returned with a woman who was wearing a full burqa, only her eyes and hands visible. She hesitated, then made toward Lois, and Lois understood. They wanted a woman to search her. She was grateful, and some of her fear receded: if these men were willing to show her this much respect, there was a good chance her sex wouldn’t be the disadvantage that both Jimmy and Clark feared. She carried nothing except her notebook and cash in her pockets. She handed both over without resistance and submitted to the woman’s search. They were watched by the men, but the silent woman stood in such a way as to shield Lois from their eyes as much as she could. Lois would have allowed one of the men to do it - what choice did she have? - but when the woman checked even her bra for hidden devices she was glad she didn’t have to. When the search was completed, Lois straightened her clothing and made sure the scarf still covered her hair. The woman spoke quietly to one of the men, returned Lois’s notebook and money to her, and left the shack.

Amal gestured for Lois to come forward. With some relief, she returned to Jimmy’s side.

“Why did you not say you are woman?” Amal’s written English was perfect: they had been exchanging emails for months, but his speech was more stilted.

Lois tried to look confused. “You didn’t ask, and I thought you knew. My profile is on the _Daily Planet_ website.” It was truth, as far as it went, but she had known he thought she was male and intentionally never corrected his assumption.

She was surprised when he nodded and apparently accepted her explanation. “Long drive to compound. You need drink first?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then come now.” Amal led them from the shack. There was a truck waiting, an off-road Jeep with the rear flatbed covered with a canvas roof, like a troop carrier. Lois was led to the cab, Jimmy to the rear. It would not be a comfortable ride for him, but Jimmy shrugged off her apologetic look. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d travelled like this.

As she reached for the Jeep’s door, Lois looked up at the sky. She saw no sign of Superman. Was he close by? He had no way to let her know, but she trusted Clark. For all that she had insisted on her independence, she would have been much more afraid without his protection. She smiled at the apparently empty sky and climbed into the Jeep.

 

 

An hour’s drive from the town, Lois could see nothing but rocky desert scrub in all directions. That was when they stopped, and she was given a thick black hood and told to put it on. She didn’t like making herself even more vulnerable, and the heat inside the Jeep was already stifling, but she had no choice. She covered her head with the sack and was immediately plunged into thick darkness. She had never been claustrophobic, but this was horrible. The Jeep began to move again and now she had only the vaguest sense of their direction. Sound did penetrate through the hood, but other than the engine of the Jeep there was little sound to guide her. The ominous cries of vultures and the more familiar barking of dogs. Once, a gunshot.

She had long given up on trying to remember anything of their route or even how long they had been driving when she heard the rumble of another vehicle joining them on the road. Not long after, the Jeep slowed almost to a crawl and she heard shouting in that unfamiliar language. The crunch of boots on gravel and another sound she took to be a heavy gate opening. Moments later, the Jeep stopped moving.

The Jeep door beside her opened and rough hands dragged Lois from the vehicle. She stifled her impulse to protest and did her best to cooperate - not easy when she couldn’t see where she was going. She was held by two men, one gripping each of her arms, effectively preventing her from removing the black hood. She stumbled on the uneven ground, unable to find balance as they dragged her forward. All around her men were talking and she couldn’t understand a word. She was completely vulnerable, helpless, and she hated it.

They came to a stop and hands pressed on her head and shoulders. She resisted for an instant and a man shouted angrily. Something hit her hard behind her knees and she crashed to the ground, no choice but to kneel because her legs buckled under her. Someone ripped the hood from her head and the desert sun dazzled her eyes painfully. She closed them automatically, realised her mistake and forced her eyes open.

Lois was kneeling in front of a man she instantly recognised as the General. He wore the uniform of the army that no longer, technically, existed. His dark eyes met hers then swept down, taking in the shirt now damp with sweat, the cotton pants stretched tightly across her thighs. A smile spread over his features.

“They did not tell me,” he said, in perfect, only lightly accented English, “that the interview would be with a lady.”

“I’m not a lady, I’m a journalist,” Lois shot back. It was such an automatic response she didn’t even think about it. If he’d said _woman_ , it wouldn’t have triggered her like that. But _lady_ was a word she had fought against all her career. It meant weak, fragile, lesser. It meant unworthy. She could not accept that word being applied to her, not even if it were meant as a compliment. Perhaps _especially_ not then.

General Amajagh smiled as if her reply amused him. With nothing more than a flick of his eyes, he signalled to the men who still held Lois’s arms. They released her instantly.

Lois didn’t get up, assuming that would give offence. She fumbled for the scarf that had fallen to her shoulders during the drive and fixed it over her hair again. She glanced around, searching for Jimmy. She found him quickly, no worse for the long drive, the old camera hanging on a strap around his neck. He offered her an encouraging smile.

Lois’s eyes took in the other men around them and she felt the first stirrings of real fear. She was good at her job because she noticed things other people might miss. She noticed quickly. There were eight men, excluding Jimmy, who she could see from where she stood. They wore a mixture of quasi-military uniforms and traditional Islamic garb, but all of them were caucasian. Until that moment, everyone she had seen connected with General Amajagh was black. A single white face, or even two or three, she might have dismissed, but _all_ of them? This was wrong.

She looked at Jimmy, trying to signal with her eyes, but he gave no sign he saw anything unusual. Damn it. She turned back to the General.

“Please,” he gestured to the empty ground between them. “Ask me anything you wish.”

Lois pulled the notebook from her pocket. “I suppose the obvious question is, are you a terrorist, General Amajagh? The Nairomi government says you are.”

“What I am,” he answered, speaking slowly, as if weighing his words carefully, “is a man with a deep love of his country. The government you speak of is the puppet of our enemies, corrupt and illegitimate. Surely you know this.”

There was a lot to probe in that statement. Lois tackled the facts she knew first. “There were UN observers in Nairomi during the election. There were concerns about the results in some areas, but overall they reported a fair ballot. You disagree?”

“I do,” he said emphatically. “There was nothing democratic about it. They used every dirty trick - ” he broke off, looking past Lois.

She turned around, swivelling on her knees in time to see one of the General’s guards open Jimmy’s camera.

“No, don’t!” Jimmy tried to stop him as he pulled the roll of film from the camera.

Immediately, six guns were pointed at Jimmy. He froze, the open camera still around his neck. Slowly, he raised his hands, showing his empty palms.

The man who held his film pulled it from the reel, exposing the film to the desert sun and ruining any images Jimmy had already taken.

Lois wanted to object. She was allowed to bring a photographer. She had been assured photographs would be permitted! But the guns kept her silent.

The empty reel was thrown to the sand and crushed beneath a booted heel. Then the man bent down and picked something out of the shattered plastic.

Lois’s stomach twisted into a tight, painful knot. _Oh, god, Jimmy. What have you done?_

She couldn’t see what the man held, but he displayed it for the other men to see.

He said flatly, “CIA.”

Lois felt the blood drain from her face. It couldn’t be true, but it wouldn’t matter. Just the accusation was enough.

General Amajagh barked an order she didn’t comprehend and rough hands took hold of Lois again. This time, she struggled, but she was on her knees, and no match for their strength. “No! No, don’t!” she cried, not even sure what she meant.

Jimmy shouted something in what Lois thought was the same language the men around them had used. She stared at him, shocked that he knew the language at all.

Then he added, in English, “It’s okay, Lois.”

“No!” she screamed. They dragged her away. Behind her, she heard a single gunshot and the terrifying thud of a body hitting the ground. No scream of pain.

The men tossed her unceremoniously into what looked like an empty storage room and left her there. Lois scrambled to her feet, breathing hard. She ran to the door. It wouldn’t open. She stepped back and shook herself out of her panic. She was locked in. If Jimmy was still alive, she couldn’t do anything to help him. She had to take care of herself.

Lois felt pain in her knees and bent to examine herself. Sharp stones had cut through her flimsy pants at the knees and grazed her skin. There was a little blood, but nothing to worry about. Her arms were bruised from the hands of Amajagh’s men, and her heart was still beating fit to burst out of her chest. But she was okay.

There was a tracking device hidden in Jimmy’s camera. Had he known? Surely he wouldn’t have done something so stupid?

The door was flung open and General Amajagh walked in. Fury was in every movement of his body, in his piercing, dark eyes. He had a gun in one hand. He advanced on her.

Before he could speak, Lois blurted out, “I didn’t know!”

Truth. And cowardice.

He pointed the gun at her head. “Ignorance,” he said, “is not the same as innocence.”

Lois tried to speak but her mouth was too dry. Her legs felt like jelly. Any moment now, she was going to piss herself. She was that scared. She had always thrived on adrenaline, but not this time. He was going to kill her: it was in his eyes. The only question was what he would do to her first.

The roof collapsed in a cloud of dust. Amajagh grabbed Lois, spinning her around and pulling her tight against his body. She grabbed the arm he curled around her neck, clinging desperately for balance even as she felt the cold barrel of the gun against her temple.

And then the dust cleared.

And she saw him rise slowly, as if there were all the time in the world, dust cascading off the scarlet cape as he straightened.

In her terror, she had somehow forgotten him. Superman. Clark. She had a gun to her head, but she wasn’t afraid any more.

Superman looked past her to the General. He didn’t speak a word. He didn’t have to.

“Take one step, and you will see the inside of her skull,” Amajagh threatened. Lois knew he was terrified. She could feel him shaking.

And she knew that, as real as his threat was, it meant nothing. There were at least three ways Clark could stop him, and he was faster than a bullet, faster than human thought.

She was still holding Amajagh’s arm, trying to pull his forearm away from her throat. She looked at Clark and lowered her hands.

She felt a sudden wind, and both men were gone. So was the wall behind her.

Only a short time passed before Superman returned for her, but to Lois it was an eternity. Safe behind stone walls she heard the roar of automatic gunfire, men shouting in anger and in pain, engine noise, and more sounds she could not identify. The battle was brief, but it sounded brutal. Lois sank to the floor, hugging herself as her body finally reacted to the stress and adrenaline. She almost died. If Clark hadn’t been there...if he had been even a few seconds later... Lois touched her own wrist, seeking her pulse and found it much too rapid. She forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply, trying to calm the scream rising into her throat. Panic would do her no good.

Then she felt the warmth of his cape envelop her, and Superman’s arm around her shaking shoulders. She let herself fall against him and felt her panic recede. She was safe.

Superman’s lips brushed her temple. “Can you stand?”

“I...I think so.”

He stood and held out both of his hands. She slipped her hands into his and he pulled her upright. His expression was very grim, but he cupped her cheek with one large hand. With his thumb, he wiped away tears Lois hadn’t realised were there.

“Jimmy?” she asked.

“I think he’ll be okay. He’s hurt, but...”

She almost collapsed again. “Oh, thank God. Or, thank _you_. I heard the shot but couldn’t see...”

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He scooped her up into his arms and carried her, so smoothly he had to be flying, into the sunlight.

 

 

Clark set Lois down gently, on her feet beside the Jeep. He had left Jimmy inside it, injured, but not in danger.

This had been too close. Flying above the compound, watching and hearing everything, Clark held back from interfering because he knew that if Lois thought he was being over-protective, it would ruin their relationship. So when the guard found the tracker in Jimmy's camera, when everything started to happen so very fast, Clark was forced to make a choice. And there was no choice at all, not really. There was a bullet already flying toward Jimmy’s head.

So he saved Jimmy first, blocking the path of the bullet and knocking him down while still in flight, and back into the air before any of them, Jimmy included, could register what had happened. He hovered over the compound, as the men reacted and Jimmy looked up. And in those few seconds Lois vanished from his sight.

Superman found her quickly. Seeing Amajagh point a gun at her face brought back a rage he thought he had conquered. It was the same thing he felt when Zod’s people threatened his mother and then, he destroyed half of Smallville before he got control of his anger. This time, at least, he was better prepared for it.

Amajagh’s threat meant nothing. But when Lois lowered her hands, showing him what to do - in effect, giving him permission - Superman acted. For him, it was a series of discrete actions, entirely under control. Fly forward. Grab the man in flight. Turn as they hit the wall and it exploded into rubble around them. Slow down. Stop.

He took most of the impact on his own body but could not protect the man from all of it. The body he let fall to the sand was broken and he didn’t stop to see how broken, because that was when the shooting started. Lois was safe behind stone walls. Jimmy was not.

Superman could not act as fast as he wanted to. Human bodies were fragile and he could do serious damage by accident. With the General, he didn't care. Lois mattered more. This time he was more restrained.

The scene was one of chaos and Superman took it in swiftly. Men who appeared to be military but not of Amajagh’s former army had formed a circle, back to back, and were firing at anything they saw, people, shadows or motion. It looked indiscriminate, but there was a method in it. They were moving, slowly, toward one of the buildings. Around them, Amajagh’s men tried to fight back, but they were losing. And Jimmy was caught in the crossfire.

Superman eliminated the guns first. It took five seconds to rip guns from hands, crush the barrel of each one and throw it over the wall. He flew to Jimmy, saw at once that he was injured, and raked a scarlet line across the courtyard with his laser vision, drawing a barrier between Jimmy and the men who had tried to kill him. All around them, people were bleeding from bullet wounds.

“Are you okay?” he asked Jimmy. Before Jimmy could answer, an engine roared to life, followed by another, and another. Eight men - the eight who didn’t seem to belong - were on motorcycles. Since they were intent on leaving, Superman let them go. But he did notice one thing through the dust they threw up in their wake. The man leading them was someone he had seen before. He noted it, but had no time to deal with it.

Instead, Superman landed beside Jimmy. He saw the blood and scanned deeper, examining the injuries. Three bullet wounds, and he was lucky it wasn’t more with all the bullets that had been flying. One bullet was lodged in his collar bone, one had struck and broken a rib, the third went through Jimmy’s leg, dangerously close to the artery. He wasn’t in immediate danger but it was close. Superman offered a hand to help him up.

Jimmy scrabbled for the camera and hung it back around his neck. Only then did he accept Superman’s help. He could stand, but he couldn’t walk on that leg.

“Hold on,” Superman told him, and flew them both to the three Jeeps parked just inside the gate. He chose the one that had the least damage from the gunfight and helped Jimmy into the cab. “Wait here. Get a tourniquet on the leg if you can. I’ll be back with Lois.”

As he landed beside the Jeep with Lois in his arms, he said quietly, “We have to get out of here, but I’ve got one more thing to take care of. Stay here, and stay down.”

Superman returned to where he left General Amajagh. The man was alive, but still unconscious. He scanned the general’s body to assess his injuries. Superman _had_ tried to protect him from the impact when they flew through the wall, but he hadn’t entirely succeeded. Amajagh’s right shoulder was crushed. It wasn’t likely he would have use of the arm again, if he lived. The concussion didn’t seem serious; there was no sign of bleeding in the brain. With adequate medical attention, he might survive, but it wasn’t Superman who would make that decision.

He lifted the general’s body and carried him back into the store room where he had threatened Lois. He left him there.

Satisfied, Superman rose quickly into the air above the compound. Before the trouble began, he had seen a convoy approaching. He looked for them from the sky and saw the trucks were less than thirty minutes away. They were government troops. He could leave Amajagh to them.

Superman had memorised the layout of the compound when he flew over it after meeting with Amal to organise the interview. He knew the extent of Amajagh’s arsenal and where the weapons were kept. From the air, he scanned each building to confirm there were no people inside, and destroyed each cache of weapons.

He could do no more if he wanted to save Jimmy. Not everyone in the compound was part of Amajagh’s terrorist army. There were prisoners: people taken from nearby villages and forced to work in the compound. Superman had to trust the government troops to take care of those people.

He had to take care of his friends.

 

 

#### Johannesburg

Clark tapped lightly on the glass that separated the corridor from the hospital room. He could see Lois slumped in a chair beside the bed where Jimmy lay. Lois’s head snapped up at the sound of his knock. She started to get up. Clark opened the door. He spared a single glance for Jimmy, then his arms were full of Lois as she flung herself at his chest. Clark dropped the travel bag he was carrying and held her, burying his face in her hair.

Jimmy watched them through heavy-lidded eyes and wiggled his fingers in a weak wave. “Hey, Clark,” he whispered.

“How are you?” Clark asked cooly.

“I feel like crap, but they say that’s a good sign. The surgery went well.”

Clark moved a little to the side, still holding Lois against his body with one arm. “Good. I want you to recover quickly so I can break both your arms. What the hell were you thinking, man?”

“Clark!” Lois protested.

“You could have been killed because of him,” Clark said stubbornly.

“Then _I’m_ the one who gets to beat him up. Not you.”

Clark shrugged and adjusted his glasses. “Okay then. You’ll hit him harder than I can anyway.”

“Hey!” Jimmy protested, but his voice was still hoarse, the protest weak.

Having made his point to Jimmy, Clark bent to retrieve the bag he brought with him. “I’ve got your passports and some of your things from the hotel in Nairomi. Superman doesn’t think you should go back there.”

“Superman is right,” Jimmy agreed.

“Seconded.” Lois took the bag from Clark with a smile. “I’m really glad you came, Clark.”

“Me too.”

 

 

#### Gotham City

“Is that everything?” Bruce asked, in a tone meant to convey that it had better be. Meetings with corporate lawyers bored him.

“I believe so, Bruce.” The lawyer gathered up the papers scattered over the conference table between them.

“Good.” Bruce stood and offered his hand. “Thanks for your time.”

“Of course.” The lawyer shook his hand and turned to go.

Grace appeared in the doorway almost immediately after the lawyer left. She laid the regular newspapers on the conference table and started to clear away the coffee tray.

Bruce glanced at the newspapers and his eye fell on the headline about the massacre in Nairomi. He had seen that on CNN the evening before. They were still blaming Superman. Bruce wasn’t convinced.

He looked at at Grace. “What else is on my schedule today?” he asked.

“Mr Fox at ten,” she answered instantly. “The Wayne Tech board meeting at ten-thirty. Lunch with the Wayne Foundation award winners. Oh, and there is a journalist here to see you. He has no appointment but he insisted I tell you he’s waiting.”

“I don't have time,” Bruce pointed out. It was 9:45. “And even if I did... Wait. What journalist?”

“Clark Kent, of the _Daily Planet_.”

Oh, that was different. “Grace, I’m sorry, I should have mentioned it. Kent can see me whenever he needs to. Ask Lucius if we can meet after lunch instead and send Kent in. If Lucius needs to see me before the board meeting, push the meeting.”

A slight raise of her eyebrows gave away Grace’s surprise. “Yes, sir,” she said, and hurried from the room, the cups on the coffee tray clinking together as she walked.

She returned a moment later with Kent. “Do you want refreshments, sir?” she asked.

“Not for me. Kent?” Bruce looked at Clark.

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Thank you, Grace. Please make sure we’re not disturbed.” He waited until the door closed behind her. “I wasn’t expecting you. Is this about Nairomi?” His eyes flickered to the damning headline.

Clark walked around the table and drew out the chair beside Bruce. “Indirectly, yes. There’s something you need to know.”

Bruce interrupted him. “I’m sure what they’re reporting isn’t what happened, but I don’t think I can help. If you wanted to test Finch’s new committee you couldn’t have picked a worse way to start. Have they summoned you yet?”

Clark turned the newspaper around to read the headline. “No, but I’m sure they will. Have they called you?”

Bruce shook his head. “They won’t. This is all about the politics. You’ll be facing senators and military.”

Clark sighed. “That’s a pity. I’d feel better if you were there.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Why? You know I’m not on your side.”

Clark frowned. “I didn’t realise I had a ‘side’.” He looked up, meeting Bruce’s eyes. “It was a bad day, Bruce, but I did _not_ kill those people.” He hesitated then amended, “That’s not quite true. Amajagh might have died from his injuries. That’s on me. But he was alive when we left the compound.”

Bruce nodded. If the rebels had tried to kill Lois Lane, and that part of the story seemed to be true, Superman had good reason to retaliate. Yet he didn’t unleash his full power. Clark was learning to control his anger and that could only be a good thing.

“I believe you,” Bruce said.

“I may not have liked what you had to say in the Capitol, but you were right about most of it. Now I know why. You have...an insight, and you express it in a way that makes it hard to argue. I agreed to accept a certain oversight from this committee, and I know they’ll want to punish me for this.” He tapped the newspaper. “If I'm going to accept some kind of sanction, I want to be sure that they’ve considered all the implications. If you were there, I would know, even if that might work against me.” He pushed the newspaper away. “But that isn’t why I’m here, Bruce.”

“It isn’t?” Bruce leaned back in his chair. “I’m all ears.”

“In Amajagh’s compound, he had a private security team who seemed to be...I don’t know exactly. A personal bodyguard maybe. They were close to him, and in charge. They were not local men.”

If by “not local” Clark meant “white”, that was significant. Amajagh’s propaganda had all been based on local rule by local people, and rejecting the white, western narrative of Nairomi's troubles.

“One of them,” Clark went on, “the one in charge, I think, was someone we both know.”

Bruce sat up straight. He hadn’t expected that. “Who?”

“The man you were following a few weeks ago. You thought he was smuggling radioactive material.”

“What was a Russian smuggler doing in the Nairomi desert?” He blurted the question, then thought of a better one. He reached for his tablet computer and with a few taps on the screen found the email Oliver had sent him. He opened the attached photograph and showed it to Clark. “Was this man there?”

Clark studied it. The photograph was poor quality: something taken from a distance and blown up so the image was blurry and indistinct. Eventually he nodded. “Yes, I think so. With the Russian. Who is he?”

“This is our archer. Which makes our Russian friend Anatoli Knyazev. They’re elite mercenaries. Not smugglers.” Which meant Knyazev’s tear through Gotham had not been a mere decoy. It was a planned attempt on Bruce’s - or Batman’s - life. And it had almost succeeded. If not for Superman, he would have been killed by that fall.

He looked at Clark thoughtfully. “Mercenaries work for anyone with enough money. Amajagh wasn’t rich. He had backing from somewhere.”

“He was stockpiling arms manufactured in the US,” Clark said, “but I can’t prove his backer was American.”

“No, but it supports the possibility. And there appears to be a link to Gotham, which makes this my problem.”

“Our problem,” Clark insisted, “if the connection is what I’m beginning to suspect.”

“And that is?”

“LexCorp.”

Shit and fuck! “You have evidence?” Bruce asked quickly.

Clark’s eyes widened. “You knew.”

Bruce turned off the tablet. “I know that LexCorp has been mixed up in a lot of things in the past. I know that young Lex is a bit crazy, a lot ambitious and not as smart as he thinks he is. And I know he’s got some scheme involving Superman.”

“What scheme?”

“Clark, if I knew, I would have told you already. I have pieces of the puzzle, but not enough to make a picture.”

“Then let’s pool what we know. Do you have time?”

Bruce checked his watch. It wouldn’t be the first time he failed to make it to a board meeting and this was more important. But perhaps not more urgent.

“I have a board meeting. I’d love to skip it, but...” He shook his head. “I keep an apartment in Metropolis. Maybe we can meet there this evening. I’ll have access to my data there and I can show you what I know.”

“Okay.”

“Give me your cell number and I’ll text you the address. Show up any time after six.” He stood and accepted the business card Clark offered. He could have blown off the board, but he wanted more time to think about this, and to figure out just how much it was safe to share with Superman.

 

 

#### USAMRIID facility, location classified

Lex climbed down from the SUV and turned back for his briefcase. Mercy, who was his driver for the day as well as bodyguard, handed it to him. The case was aluminium on the exterior, but reinforced inside, and it was heavy. Lex looked up at the building as he slammed the SUV door closed. From the outside it was a large, grey, windowless box. There was a single doorway visible, but no company name above it, only a logo: a bisected shield with a stylised DNA strand on one side and a five-pointed star on the other.

The SUV beeped loudly in response to the remote lock and Mercy walked around to his side. She made no comment on the nondescript building. Lex headed for the door. It was made of bullet-proof glass and opened into a reception area that was sealed off from the rest of the building. It meant visitors admitted to the reception were effectively prisoners until the building security either let them proceed or let them leave.

Mercy looked around and her right hand twitched as if longing for a weapon. Lex understood her tension. She knew a kill-box when she was stuck in one. So did he. But they were in no danger. They had been invited.

Even so, Lex was required to prove his identity and expected to wait for someone to escort him. They wanted to search his briefcase, too. This, Lex refused: he had been assured he would be allowed to bring his equipment, but he did compromise by allowing them to scan it through their weapons detector.

He was becoming impatient by the time their “escort” arrived. The man was a few years Lex’s senior and wearing what appeared to be an army uniform, but with the identifying insignia removed. He did not introduce himself, but simply asked them to follow him.

Lex and Mercy were led through the white-painted corridors. There were doors, but very few of them and they were spaced widely apart. Each door was solid and protected by electronic locks. Each door was marked only with a number, and there seemed to be no order or logic to them. They passed doors marked 1964, 23, 562 and so on. Lex found the random order irritating, but he knew better than to ask.

They stopped at a door marked 702. Their escort swiped a card through the lock and entered a code: 4 - 2 - 7 - 9 - 0 - 2. Lex memorised it automatically, not because he had any intention to return, but just because his mind worked that way with numbers.

The door opened with a faint hiss and Lex moved to enter first, eager to get started after all the delays. Mercy held him back. Lex looked at her in surprise, but she was his bodyguard and he had no reason to doubt her instincts. He stepped back to let her go through the door first, and entered behind her.

There was no danger. In fact, there was almost nothing to see: a white wall, clad in what looked like glass, and a further locked door.

“We keep the alien remains inside.” The new voice was male and so gravelly the speaker sounded like a 40-a-day smoker, though surely someone with such a habit couldn’t handle working here.

Lex turned to face him. He was younger than his voice suggested, perhaps forty, with black hair and a beard. His skin was dark, somewhere between heavy sun-tan and native of south Asia. He wore a white coat over a shirt and tie.

He looked at their escort. “Thank you, Major. You’re dismissed.”

The major stiffened to attention, but did not salute. He left them alone and the door hissed closed behind him.

“Mr Luthor, welcome to project seven oh two. I’m Doctor Jones.”

Lex couldn’t help wondering whether _Jones_ was an alias. “What can you tell me about the condition of the alien’s body?”

“Oh, it’s perfect. We keep it in a cold chamber, for preservation, but there has been no sign of normal decay.”

“Have you been able to conduct any tests?”

“Hm. Limited. The skin is completely impenetrable so dissection was impossible. We have MRI and X-ray scans, of course, but little else of interest.”

Lex nodded. “I’d like to go in alone. I believe I’m authorised to do that.”

“Yes, sir, of course.” Jones crossed to the door and tapped in a code. “Five, five seven, one,” he said aloud as he entered the numbers. The door swished open, but it didn’t lead to a new room. It was an elevator.

Lex smiled. “Mercy, I’ll be forty minutes,” he said, set the countdown on his wristwatch, and entered the elevator. The door closed behind him. There were only two buttons on the control panel: up and down. No emergency alarm or door controls, which was a little worrying. Lex pushed the button for down, realising as he did so that he actually didn’t know which was right. But the elevator began to move at once, smoothly descending.

When the doors opened, Lex emerged into a well-lit, white room about the size of his bedroom. In the middle of the room was a waist-high slab on which lay the body of a man, encased in what looked like a plastic bubble. As Jones had warned, the room was very cold. There were glass-fronted cabinets filling one wall, filled with medical equipment from scalpels to a defibrillator.

Lex walked around the slab and found the controls that retracted the plastic bubble surrounding it. For the first time, he looked upon the face of General Zod. The alien was clearly dead, but while the skin was grey, the features slack, he appeared only recently dead. There was no decay or desiccation.

Lex set his briefcase down on the ground and straightened to move closer to the alien. He reached out to touch the bare flesh, running his fingers over Zod’s face in a strange caress. This was the man responsible, at least in part, for his father’s death.

“Thank you,” Lex said softly, then he opened the briefcase and got down to work.

 

 

#### Metropolis

It was eight thirty by the time Clark reached the address Bruce gave him. He felt very ambivalent about this meeting. He didn’t understand what was between himself and Bruce. Instinct told him Bruce Wayne was Superman’s enemy, and Superman saving his life didn’t change that. But he had trouble digging up evidence to support that instinct. A few harsh words in the Capitol? Harsh that encounter may have been and Clark came away from it bruised, but it didn’t add up to more than words.

That was, in part, why he chose to appear as Clark, not as Superman. He wanted to appear normal, unthreatening. He wore grey-blue pants, a pale blue shirt with a plain tie and a casual jacket. And, of course, the thick-framed glasses.

Although he was late, Bruce seemed to know exactly when he would arrive: he had Chinese take-out cartons on the table with the contents still warm, and take-out coffee from the nearby cafe, also still hot. The take-out told Clark that Bruce spent very little time in this apartment: he had no food in the kitchen.

The apartment itself was a penthouse (of course) with a really great view of the bay. The furniture was sparse and could have been brand new. There was a bank of six screens in two rows on one wall and below them a panel of lights. Clark, looking through the panel, saw a complete network and server system, as well as controls for a false wall that would conceal and secure the hardware when it wasn’t in use. He wasn’t more technically proficient than the average American, but it was clear Bruce Wayne was.

“Help yourself to food,” Bruce said by way of greeting. “You like Chinese?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Clark grabbed a carton at random, selected a pair of chopsticks and followed Bruce to the computer.

“I want you to tell me everything you can about what happened in Nairomi,” Bruce said.

So, he was going to treat this like a business meeting. That was probably best, Clark thought. “We agreed to _share_ information,” he pointed out.

“I’ll tell you what I know. But I’ll be able to tell you more if I have the full picture. Or at least as much of it as we can get to. How did Ms Lane get so close to Amajagh?”

“She’s good at her job,” Clark answered. “She had contacts in Nairomi from the war, and after the embassy bombings she followed up the story. She wanted to interview Amajagh. Lois has a way of getting what she wants.”

“I need the details to get to the bottom of this,” Bruce insisted. “Do you know the name of her source? How did she get the interview?”

For the next hour, Clark talked and Bruce asked questions, pushing him to recall even the most obscure details. Clark told him what he knew of Lois’s email contact with Amal and how the interview had finally been arranged. Then he told Bruce about that day. As much as he wanted to respect Lois’s independence, he couldn’t let her go into such a dangerous situation unprotected, but he hadn’t expected the interview to become so violent, so quickly. He told Bruce what happened, about the private security team around the General, led by Anatoli Knyazev, the same Russian mercenary who had been on the streets of Gotham as part of a setup designed to kill Batman. He explained about the tracking device Jimmy had carried, and Jimmy’s claim that a CIA agent gave it to him. He described the army convoy that followed them to Amajagh’s compound, most likely following that tracking signal, and the choice he made to get Jimmy and Lois out of there before the battle. He had destroyed as much of Amajagh’s weapons stockpile as he could before carrying the people he cared about out of there. Knyazev and his team escaped on motorbikes. He didn’t know if the army caught up with them, but it was possible the Nairomi troops didn’t even know they had been there.

Finally, Clark fell silent. While he was talking, Bruce had been making notes on the computer, and pulling up information, images and maps from different databases, displaying it all on the screens. He was damned good. Clark, reading Bruce’s data as quickly as he could fill the screens, learned more in that hour than he could have found in a week of doing the research alone. Bruce didn't need to say a word: almost everything Clark needed was right there.

He had a trail of emails between two people identified only as “Mr K” and “D”, which revealed that “D” had been refused an import license for “the package”, which could not be smuggled by the usual channels because the radioactivity would set off all kinds of alarms. “Mr K” agreed to commission “The White Portuguese” to transport the package to Gotham. The context of the correspondence made it seem that the White Portuguese was a person, but Clark remembered that was the name of the ship. Later emails gave details of the shipping route, expected date of arrival and even the berth. It made perfect sense that Bruce, as Batman, had attempted to intercept the package.

Bruce turned to face Clark. “Well, it’s clear that we were both set up. The _White Portuguese_ emails led me into an ambush designed to kill me, or to kill Batman. Nairomi was designed to draw Superman in and discredit him. You. But so far I don’t see anything to prove a link to LexCorp. What have you left out? Something led you there.”

Clark moved to the window, looking down at the roofs of Metropolis and then across the water. He had an almost perfect view of Gotham City and it was easy to picture Bruce standing where he was, watching the sky above Gotham, waiting for the shadow in the clouds that called him to act.

“There were a few things,” Clark explained. “Amajagh had high tech weapons he couldn’t possibly have actually used. Drones, missiles, stuff that needs a bank of computers and reliable power, which he didn’t have. That stuff was LexCorp made.”

“That doesn't prove he dealt directly with LexCorp,” Bruce began.

“No, but there’s no way he had the kind of money it would take to buy it and it was too new to be left over from the war. Someone donated that equipment to him. The most obvious supplier is LexCorp. I don’t know many arms dealers who give away cutting edge tech.”

“Point,” Bruce conceded. “What else?”

“Knyazev and his men were wearing body armour that had a LexCorp manufacturing logo on it. Amajagh wouldn’t have seen that: the armour was covered by clothing. I checked: LexCorp doesn’t sell personal body armour.”

“They don’t make it, either,” Bruce said. He turned back to the computer and ran a search. “But they do have a special projects division...” Data scrolled up the screen, surely too quickly for Bruce to read. Clark saw only numbers: code designations. Then one flashed green and the scrolling stopped. The line read #ex.2631000.it.9.

Bruce typed again and the screen filled with a new list of numbers, but these were file names for tests and analyses. Bruce opened one.

“Testing an experimental material for armour and personal protection.They’re diversifying,” Bruce commented. He closed the file and opened another. “It’s not a kevlar derivative.” He frowned. “Look at that.”

The screen filled with something Clark recognised as a chemical formula, but he had no idea what it meant. “That’s a bit beyond my high school chemistry class.”

“High school chem doesn’t usually cover alien technology,” Bruce said dryly, “but I thought you might know something about it.”

Alien? He meant Kryptonian. “Not as much as you might assume. I don’t recognise that as Kryptonian. Is it?”

“It looks like it’s reverse-engineered from something salvaged after the invasion. It will take a while to find out what it was.” Bruce looked up again. “But if you didn’t know the material is experimental, I’m still not seeing why you are so suspicious of LexCorp. Don’t get me wrong, I agree with you. But I want to understand why.”

Clark pondered. “This is harder to explain. It’s an instinct. I was at Lex’s home a couple of weeks ago, for an interview, with Lois and Jimmy. I think we talked about Nairomi, so if he had us monitored he may have found out about it that way, but it’s more my impression of Luthor.”

Bruce gave a cynical laugh. “He leaves an impression.”

“It’s more than that.” Clark felt some reluctance to explain, but he forged ahead. He told Bruce, briefly, about the interview, his odd moment of illness and Luthor’s reaction.

Bruce looked grim. “You can’t be that naïve, Clark. You can’t afford to be.”

Anger flashed inside Clark. “I’m not - ”

“Do you _really_ not know about this?” Bruce asked incredulously. He brought up a new file on the screen. It showed a long string of letters and subscript above a diagram made of circles joined by lines: a chemical formula and molecular diagram.

Clark studied the image. It took a moment before he realised that this one _was_ familiar.

“Kryptonite,” he said. “It’s from the core of my home planet. My people used it as a power source, similar to the way uranium is used here, but it’s many times more powerful. It doesn’t exist in this solar system.”

“Not naturally,” Bruce agreed, “but it’s here now. Look at this.” A new image appeared on the screen. “That’s the dust that was all over ground zero after the invasion. Most of it is brick and concrete, but there’s about three percent kryptonite in this sample.”

Clark adjusted his glasses as he studied the picture; the gesture had become a habit. “This is all over Metropolis?”

“No, the first big rainstorm would have washed most of it away. There could be traces in the storm drains, maybe, and very likely at the bottom of the bay. But a few larger samples were found in the wreckage in the Indian Ocean. LexCorp has them now and Lex has been experimenting on the remains of General Zod. This kryptonite is far more toxic to you than plutonium is to humans.” He looked at Clark with amazement, and a little pity. “How can you not know about this?”

When had Clark had the chance to learn? he thought defensively. He was a baby when he came to Earth and his education was human, in human schools. The scout ship found under the ice in Canada was his first encounter with anything of Krypton, and he did not have custody of the ship for long before the invasion began. Even with the wealth of knowledge available to him through the ship, there was only so much even he could absorb in a few days.

What he said to Bruce was, “It’s not that I don't know about the mineral. I just have a very different perspective. You’re seeing it as a weapon, aren't you?”

“What else?”

“I told you. A fuel source, a piece of my home planet. My body reacts badly to Krypton because I’ve never lived there. My cells adapted to Earth’s environment. I do understand that could be used against me but it’s not how I think of it.”

“Then tell me you at least understand what happened at Lex’s house. And what it means.”

Clark had never been a fan of twenty questions, but he did understand now that his moment of illness during the interview was probably induced by kryptonite. His exhaustion after the invasion was also explained by the dust Bruce showed him. He frowned. “Bruce, if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

“If you’re a psychopath with almost unlimited resources, how would you lure Superman?” Bruce didn’t give Clark a chance to answer. “You’d set a bomb, or arrange some other disaster. Probably not in Metropolis - that’s too obvious - but close to some other big event so there’ll be TV cameras to make sure Superman gets the news. But Lex didn’t do that, did he? Twice now, he’s used Lois Lane to get to you. She’s Clark Kent’s girl.”

Clark felt very stupid. It was obvious, and he should have seen it. “Lois _is_ close to Superman,” he pointed out, though he knew it was a weak objection. “On the day of the invasion, several people saw us together, and those articles were under her byline.”

“If it was only Nairomi, that might make sense. But not inviting you to his home to expose you to kryptonite. Accept it, Clark. He knows who you are.”

“How?” Clark asked. “ _You_ knew. How did you find out?”

Bruce hesitated.

“Pooling our knowledge, remember.”

“I had access to classified information from the invasion. You told General Swanwick you’d been on Earth for thirty three years. Zod’s people went looking for something in Smallville. Put the two together and I had a relatively small pool of suspects. After that it was easy to narrow it down to one.”

“Did Luthor have the same information?”

“He doesn’t have my contacts, but it would just have take him longer. Lex is a very good hacker. He could have found the same files I did.”

Clark eyed the computer Bruce was working on. “Could he have hacked _your_ system?”

Bruce’s involuntary reaction answered him before he spoke. “It’s...possible. I know he tried. If he actually broke in, he covered his tracks well.”

“Does that mean Luthor knows about you?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Bruce said. “If he had proof, I think he would have used it. He might suspect. He almost certainly knows there’s a WayneTech connection to Batman, but I don’t think he knows anything for sure.”

Clark shook his head. “This can’t be just a knowledge-is-power thing. What does he _want_?” he asked, frustrated.

“Luthor - not Lex, I mean his father - wanted me dead,” Bruce said. “Just before his death he hired...” Bruce broke off suddenly. His eyes met Clark’s. “Oh. Oh, that’s clever. I may have underestimated him.” He turned back to the computer and opened a new file. This one took a moment to decrypt, then Bruce typed: _search communication key metahuman_.

“What’s ‘metahuman’?” Clark asked.

“It _was_ a crackpot conspiracy theory before you showed up. Now it’s being taken a bit more seriously.”

Search results appeared on the screen: they looked like email subject lines.

Bruce swore under his breath. “Two birds with one stone.” Bruce turned away from the computer, pushing a key to blank the screens. “Lex wants you to kill Batman.”

“Why would he think I’d do that?”

Bruce shrugged. “Batman is a criminal vigilante and you’re an idealist. To Lex, that’s a simple equation. He thinks he can manipulate you into it.”

“You said he was smart. That’s not smart.”

“If your diagnosis of Lex as a psychopath is accurate - and for what it’s worth, I think he is - then human emotion is his weakest spot. He can fake it, but he doesn’t really understand it.” Bruce rose from his chair and picked up his cold coffee. “Lex’s father was a master at this game. I mean, the man made Machiavelli look like a rank amateur. I’ve been thinking for a while this felt a bit like I was dealing with him. The metahuman serial killer, the _White Portuguese_ setup...it feels like Luthor’s hand on the wheel.”

“But he’s dead.” Clark frowned, trying to make sense of this.

“Yes, but it’s his plan, his strategy. Lex stumbled onto it somehow and - this is a guess - he’s trying to adapt the plan to his own goal.”

“Which is Batman dead?”

“No. That was his father’s goal. For Lex, that’s a means to an end.” Bruce looked at Clark. “I think _Superman_ is his real target. Dead or discredited.”

The picture began to form in Clark’s mind. Superman was already on thin ice because of what happened in the desert. If Superman killed Batman, no matter the reason, it wouldn’t play well in the press. It didn’t feel like the whole of the answer, but it did feel right.

“Lex thinks he can play us off against each other but he doesn’t have his father’s talent at this. Tell me, has anyone talked to you about Batman, or contacted you as a journalist?”

“I’ve expressed an interest in the subject, at the _Planet_. Someone sent me some photographs from a crime scene.”

“What photographs?”

Clark reached into his jacket and handed Bruce three photocopied pictures. The first was a wide view of the inside of a shipping container with two men, bloody and beaten on the floor. The second was a closer image of a third man, naked to the waist, being manhandled by two police officers. There was a bat-shaped burn on his cheek. The third was a magnified image of that burn: a brand. Written on each of the images were the words _judge, jury_ and _executioner._ Clark watched Bruce study the images.

“Did you know the man you branded was murdered in prison?” Clark said, when he couldn’t be silent any longer. “He had a wife and children. People are saying the Bat marked him for death.”

Bruce scoffed. “He was a paedophile who raped children and sold them as sex slaves. Men like that are supposed to be segregated in prison for their own protection. Prisoners can be fathers as well as criminals. It had nothing to do with Batman.”

“You seem very sure. I don’t want to get off-topic here but - ”

Bruce shoved the photocopies back at Clark. “You know that if he had children of his own, it’s only a matter of time before he abused them, if he hadn’t already?”

“I’m aware. I’m not saying he didn’t deserve punishment. But - ”

Bruce interrupted. “It’s interesting that Lex chose that scene. He doesn’t know, because no one does except the dead paedophile, but I wasn’t there alone that night. I wasn't even the first on the scene. The men who were shot - that was ricochet because they shot at Diana. Ask her about it when she gets back from London. I didn’t brand that man to punish or mark him. I did it to keep the cops’ attention on me.” He took a breath. “So Lex, or someone, sent you pictures designed to turn you against Batman. Anything else?”

“I proposed writing some articles. Perry says no one cares about crime in Gotham. He won’t print. But I’m still working on it. I’ve talked to a few people.”

“That’s good. We can work with that.”

“We?”

“Do you want to stop Lex, or not? You do realise that if your death is his endgame, there will probably be a lot of collateral damage, even if he fails.”

“You have a plan?”

“Not a plan. A strategy. Keep working on that anti-Batman article. Let Lex think it’s a big thing for you.”

“It is. But you want him to think that Superman might be willing to take on Batman?”

“Yes, exactly. I can do the same from my side. If Lex believes his manipulation is working, I think he’ll show his hand. Does anyone know you came to my office this morning?”

“Only Lois, and your employees, of course.”

“Then if we meet in public, we don’t know each other.”

“It might work,” Clark agreed. “Can you do one thing for me?”

“Name it.”

“Next time Batman is out in Gotham, it would help if he gets noticed. Give me a reason to get back in Perry’s face about my article.”

Bruce smiled: a predator scenting prey. “I can do that.”

“Then I’d better go.”

“One more thing, Clark.”

Clark waited.

“The US recognised the Nairomi government as legitimate after their elections, but we don’t have an embassy there or any formal diplomatic relations. Amajagh threatened the lives of two US citizens. You didn’t do anything our own special forces wouldn’t have done, if they happened to be on the scene. Tell Finch’s committee that.”

“Thanks. I will.”


	4. One Bad Day

#### Washington DC

The senate hearings that followed the destruction of Metropolis largely exonerated Superman from blame, at least on the legal level. While it was clear he was the focus of the invasion, the committee accepted that he was not to blame for a situation effectively created when he was a baby. He had, after all, turned himself in to the custody of the US after Zod’s threat was broadcast to the world. The deaths in Metropolis and the damage to the city were officially deemed the result of a war declared by Zod. Superman accepted the responsibility for his part in the battle, but almost everyone believed that if Superman had held back, the outcome would have been far worse.

But there was another side to the public hearings: the backroom deal that ensured the favourable public report. It wasn't what anyone really wanted, but Superman, faced with so much evidence of the damage he had caused, not just to buildings but to lives, accepted the terms the group eventually presented. It seemed, at the time, a reasonable compromise. On the face of it, Superman conceded very little.

He agreed to respect the constitution and laws of the United States, which was something he had already stated publicly. In return, the authorities agreed to the same standard, meaning Superman couldn't be held to account for something he _might_ do in the future, only for something he had actually done. Since he refused to confirm where in the US he lived, that gave the committee chaired by Senator Finch effective oversight over his activities, if and when she chose to exercise it. Superman had agreed to accept that authority, while warning that their agreement wouldn’t last if it were abused.

In return for agreeing to help should disaster strike in the US - again, something he would have done anyway - the committee recognised that he was not a tool of the US government to be used against their enemies: they could ask for his help, but he wasn’t obligated to follow orders. It was suggested that in the event of a worldwide emergency, such as the invasion, that might not apply, but everyone knew that Superman could not be forced to do anything. He was simply too powerful.

It seemed like a good deal until the incident in the Nairomi desert. Superman hadn’t broken any laws, and nothing in the agreement forbade him from acting as he did. But the stories being told about the incident painted a very different picture. The committee had no choice but to act.

He knew, now, that it had been a well-planned ambush, designed to make him react just as he had. Lex Luthor, of course, was one of the committee that negotiated the terms, so he knew - possibly even wrote - the fine print. But Superman couldn't prove that Luthor engineered the Nairomi incident. He couldn't even prove it _was_ engineered. Lois testified that Amajagh’s security were white men, but she had seen almost none of the battle and couldn’t testify to who Superman did or did not kill. Jimmy testified that he was given the tracker by someone he believed to be CIA, but the CIA declined to confirm or deny involvement, and Jimmy’s story came across as a fabrication.

Most damning of all was the physical evidence from the scene. Superman had burned the weapons, yes, but he had been careful to make sure no one was trapped or harmed in the fires he started. Yet there was no question people died there. Not one man of Amajagh’s rebel army survived. But no body of a white man was found among the dead to support Lois’s testimony. Worse, the government convoy Superman had seen from the air - with hindsight, he knew those troops had killed everyone in the compound - had also attacked the nearby villages. The reason wasn’t clear, and the Nairomi government denied the army had been there. So that, too, was blamed on Superman.

And Superman could not in all honesty deny he was responsible. He had been naïve to think he could leave the compound without consequences. He didn’t regret putting Lois and Jimmy’s safety first, but he should have gone back when they were safe. He should have helped the villages, at the very least. He killed none of them directly, but he could not escape his share of the blame for those deaths. He could have prevented the massacre. He had let it happen.

The hearing wasn’t a trial, but it felt like one. Superman listened to testimony from survivors and from forensics experts who had examined what was left in the compound. He heard no lies, but the whole built up to a distorted picture. When the morning ended, Superman wasn’t at all confident that the committee would accept his word as truth. Superman had done a lot of good, but this one incident seemed set to eclipse it all.

“We have all been so caught up in what Superman _can_ do,” Senator Finch declared, as she concluded the morning’s session, “we haven’t stopped to ask what he _should_ do.”

She looked at Superman as she spoke and he held his tongue with an effort. She was judging him before he even had a chance to speak.

Finch turned to the woman who had been last to testify. “This committee _will_ hold Superman responsible for his actions in Nairomi. I want to thank you for the courage you have shown in coming here today.”

He had no desire to face the press so Superman remained in the chamber while the committee broke for lunch.

Lois stayed with him. “What a bitch!” she flared as soon as they were relatively alone.

Superman was grateful she came so quickly to his defence, but he had to disagree.

“She’s only doing what she thinks is right,” he said unhappily.

“She should at least have given you some warning! You’re entitled to see the evidence against you before a trial.”

“The senator probably thought I wouldn’t come if I knew,” Superman said. “Anyway, this isn’t a trial.”

“Bullshit, it’s not. It’s the closest you’ll get to one. This isn’t fair.”

Superman nodded. “You’re right, it’s not fair, but Lois, put yourself in their place. If you didn’t know the truth, what would you see?”

“Are you defending this?”

“No, I hate it. But I’m saying I get it. From the first time I put this costume on, I’ve had enemies. I’ve had people who hate me just because I’m different. I’ve seen people scared of me because they don’t trust what I am. That isn’t going away, and I don’t care what they think. _You_ know the truth, that’s all I care about.”

“So we let them lie?”

“No one lied, Lois. No one saw Knyazev and his mercenaries leave the compound. Everyone who knew they were there, except you, me and Jimmy, is dead. The witnesses this morning talked about what they saw, but none of them were inside the compound so they didn’t see that.”

“That right there is why I’m mad,” Lois said. “No one saw, except us, and they’ve decided we’re not telling the truth! If this was a proper trial, that’s reasonable doubt. They’re calling it proof of guilt.”

“All Finch said is that I’m accountable for my actions. It sounded like she’s already decided, but we don’t know that. This afternoon, I get to tell my side of what happened. I'm going to tell the truth.”

“What if they don’t believe you?” Lois asked.

Superman took her hand in his. “If they don’t believe me, you and Clark will keep looking for the proof.”

Lois managed a weak smile. “Me and Clark. Yes.”

 

 

In the end, the truth didn’t matter. Clark remembered Bruce’s advice and was prepared to defend what he had done, but it quickly became clear that no one on the committee cared.

“Do you understand, Superman,” Senator Finch asked him, “that the Nairomi government considers your unilateral action on their sovereign territory an act of war?”

Superman had not known that. “How can it be an act of war if I acted alone?”

Secretary Swanwick answered, “They don’t think you did. Our diplomats have been trying to establish relations with Nairomi, and from their point of view we unleashed a weapon of mass destruction in their territory.”

“Mass destruction? That’s - ” Superman broke off. In fact it was a pretty good description of what he could do.

“Whatever your intentions,” Finch said, “these state-level interventions will always be problematic. I think we need more time to consider how to handle events like these.”

“As Secretary Swanwick just pointed out, the US does not currently have formal diplomatic relations with Nairomi,” Superman said, trying to quote Bruce’s words exactly. “Two of our citizens were being threatened by a terrorist organisation. What did I do that our own special forces wouldn’t have done, if they were there?”

“That’s not the point, Superman,” Finch said. She glanced at her colleagues and he saw each of them nod, once.

They had already decided what they were going to do. Without even listening to him, they had decided.

She turned back to Superman. “We are very aware that this government has no way to enforce our decision. We can only ask for your cooperation, for the sake of this country and in the spirit of the agreement we all made last time we were here.”

“What decision?” Superman asked, conceding absolutely nothing until he knew what they wanted.

“You are to confine your activities to this continent, North America, until such time as we can create a framework of guidance for your actions on the international stage.”

He blinked. “You want me to stay here. To stop giving my help when it’s needed elsewhere. I’m an American, senator, but I’m here for everyone. The whole planet.”

“It won’t be forever,” Finch began.

“How long?”

“Until we agree...”

“Indefinite, in other words. We might never agree.” Superman turned to Swanwick. “We’ve had this conversation before. You don’t control me. You can’t.”

“You’re the one who created an international incident,” Swanwick said. “You are right, this isn’t something that will be resolved quickly. The wheels of the United Nations move slowly and that’s where this could end up. But _you_ put our backs against the wall. You do not want to force our hand here, Superman. You’re in the wrong this time.”

Superman could not concede that last point. But he trusted Swanwick. “I will agree to, how did you put it? I will ‘confine my activities’ to North America for the time being. But not forever, Mr Secretary. Only until the situation becomes untenable.”

“What does that mean?” Finch demanded.

It was Swanwick who answered her. “He means that people are going to die because we’re stopping him from saving their lives. You’ve won, June. Take what he offered or give it up.” He sounded bitter.

The silence stretched out until Senator Finch broke it.

“Thank you, Superman.”

“Senator,” he said coldly. In a blur of red and blue, he was gone.

 

 

#### Metropolis

Clark Kent was fast establishing a reputation at the _Daily Planet_ for journalism that was strong on human interest without being sentimental. He had published some successful stories under his byline, but he wasn’t yet in a position to turn down an assignment. That was the only reason he agreed to return to Lex Luthor’s house to cover his benefit for the “Friends of Metropolis Library”. It wasn’t the first high society function Clark had covered, and these assignments were not exactly challenging journalism. Unless something unexpected happened the story practically wrote itself.

So it was without much enthusiasm that Clark joined the reporters from other news outlets, all gathered in the large atrium of Luthor’s home, watching the wealthy and powerful arrive. Only a year ago, a gathering like this would have been challenging for him. So many different voices speaking all at once, so many different scents, of perfumes, cosmetics, and more. It could be disorienting, too much to sort through. But a year of living in a busy city had acclimated him and it was, at least, no longer difficult to stand in a crowd and blend in.

Then he saw someone he had not expected climbing out of a black sports car. Bruce Wayne, while frequently seen at events like this one in Gotham, rarely did so in Metropolis. Wayne didn’t even glance at the gathered reporters, though cameras flashed and some of them called his name, looking for his attention. He gave no sign he saw Clark there, either, but Clark was sure that Bruce noticed everything and everyone.

This presented an opportunity Clark didn't want to miss.

Clark waited until it seemed everyone who was likely to make an appearance was present. Then he made his way carefully through the crowd. A waiter offered him a glass of wine. He accepted it but didn’t drink; it was just a prop to help him blend in.

“Mr Wayne,” he called, raising his voice just a little as he saw Bruce coming up a staircase. What on earth had he been doing in the basement? “Mr Wayne,” he repeated as he caught up with the other man, and, as Bruce turned to face him, “Clark Kent, _Daily Planet_.”

Bruce met his eyes, and for an instant Clark saw the driven man he was coming to know. Then the mask took his place and Bruce’s look became dismissive. “Uh, my foundation has already issued a statement in support of - ” he began, then began to turn away, his eyes following a woman who was passing them.

“What’s your position on the Bat vigilante in Gotham?” Clark interrupted, loud enough for the people around them to hear.

Bruce shook his head as if to clear it. “Pretty girl. Bad habit,” he muttered, then looked at Clark, leaning a little toward him. “ _Daily Planet_. Wait, do I own this one? Or is that the other guy?”

Clark understood the game, or thought he did, but he pressed on. He wanted people to see him pushing Bruce on this subject. He wanted word to get to Lex. “Civil liberties are being trampled on in your city, Mr Wayne. Good people living in fear.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, son,” Bruce said, his voice dropping low.

It was, Clark thought, a signal to drop it, but he saw Mercy Graves watching them in interest. “I’ve seen it,” he insisted. “He thinks he’s above the law.”

Bruce took a step closer to him. “The _Daily Planet_ criticising those who think they’re above the law is a little, uh, hypocritical, wouldn’t you say? Considering that every time your hero saves a kitten out of a tree you write a puff-piece editorial.”

Clark drew a breath to argue.

But Bruce wasn’t done. “...About an alien,” he snarled, “who, if he wanted to, could burn the whole place down. There wouldn’t be a damn thing we could do to stop it.”

Clark was taken aback by the venom in the words. If it was an act, it was a good one, and it still hurt. He answered, speaking quietly, “Most of the world doesn’t share your opinion, Mr Wayne.” Absurdly, he wanted to apologise, but swallowed the words.

Wayne offered a cynical smile. “Well, maybe it’s the Gotham City in me. We just have a bad history with freaks dressed like clowns.”

Couldn’t that description apply just as easily to Batman? Clark almost said it aloud, but then Lex appeared, pushing his way between them, all bounce and energy like he’d taken a serious overdose of caffeine...or perhaps a regular dose of something less legal.

“Boys!” He clapped a hand on Clark’s shoulder and whirled to do that same to Bruce. “Bruce Wayne meets Clark Kent! I love bringing people together! How are we?” He shook Bruce’s hand over-enthusiastically.

“Lex,” Bruce said laconically, calmly extricating his hand from Lex’s grip.

Immediately Lex grabbed Clark’s hand. “Lex, hi, hello, it’s a pleasure.”

Clark shook his hand, subtly drawing Lex closer to him. He drew in air through his nose and looked through Lex’s skin and bone to examine him within. Skin slightly clammy, heart beat irregular and a little too fast, pupils dilated and a scent on him that Clark recognised as cocaine.

Lex winced as he pulled his hand free. “Wow, that’s quite a grip you have there!” he bounced back quickly. “You should not pick a fight with this man!” He turned to Bruce. “So, we finally got you over to Metropolis!”

“Well, I thought I’d come and drink you dry,” Bruce drawled, his laid back way of speaking making Lex seem even more jumpy.

“Well, you’re welcome,” Lex gushed. “You should hop the harbour more often, though. I’d love to show you my labs, maybe we could partner on something. My R and D is up to all sorts of no good.” Suddenly his hyper manner was gone, his heart steadied and when Lex met Bruce’s eyes Clark glimpsed something much more calculating. He wondered how Bruce would respond to that offer, given their suspicions.

Bruce drew a breath to speak but was stopped by Mercy stepping forward.

“Mr Luthor, the governor,” she said quietly.

Lex clapped his hands together. “The governor, yes, of course.” He made an expansive gesture. “Please, enjoy the evening, gentlemen.” He fell into step beside Mercy as she led him away.

Clark turned back to Bruce. They said nothing more, but Bruce gave him a short nod as he turned away. Clark returned the nod and followed Lex, at a distance.

 

 

Diana gave her car keys to the valet and walked into the mansion. She was arriving later than she had planned, having underestimated how long it would take to drive to the Luthor estate. The first familiar face she saw as she entered was Clark Kent’s. It seemed unlikely he was on Lex Luthor’s guest list, so he must be here for the newspaper.

Clark saw her and smiled a greeting. Diana returned the smile, glad to see him. A woman photographer saw their silent exchange and asked Clark who Diana was, raising the camera as she spoke.

Clark reached out and gently pushed her camera down. “Diana Prince. She’s an antiquities dealer from Europe. No one you need to photograph.” He made his way toward her.

Lex was speaking into a microphone and most eyes were on him as the two of them came together.

Clark slid his arm around Diana’s waist, a brief hug of welcome. “It’s great to see you. I didn’t know you were back.”

“I flew in this morning,” she explained. She had needed the break, a chance to think things over and make some important decisions, but she had missed the friends she left behind more than she expected to.

“How was London?”

“It was a good trip,” she answered, distracted by Lex’s speech. He was telling the story of Prometheus stealing fire from the gods, but his delivery was disjointed and rambling. Clearly, he hadn’t prepared the speech very well.

“He’s not very focussed,” she commented to Clark.

Clark answered very quietly, “He’s high. Not that anyone will call him on it. The privilege of wealth.”

She wondered if Bruce knew of this development. When she left he was still watching Lex closely and this was something he would want to know. Narcotics on top of an already unstable personality...that couldn’t be good.

“How is Lois?” she asked. She didn’t know Lois Lane but she had read about the incident in Nairomi.

Clark understood what she was really asking. “Lois is fine. It was traumatic and she’s dealing with a lot but Lois deals with this sort of thing by diving into work. She’s determined to get to the bottom of what happened.”

“And you?” she asked.

Clark shook his head. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on. I’d love to buy you lunch and talk about it. Tomorrow?”

He didn’t want to discuss it where they would be overheard, Diana understood. “Lunch sounds lovely, but I’ve only just got back. I have to meet the museum director tomorrow. Another day?”

“Sure. Call me?” Clark frowned distractedly.

Lex concluded his odd speech. So abrupt was his conclusion that he was walking away from the podium before the audience realised he was done and started to applaud. He didn’t seem to notice.

“What is it?” Diana asked Clark. She didn’t think Lex’s speech had put that look on his face.

“A news broadcast. I have to go.” Clark’s smile held a cynicism she had never seen in him before. “Mexico is in North America, right?” he asked. She saw him begin to loosen his tie as he walked out into the night.

Diana watched him go, nonplussed by his final question. She had no idea what he meant but she understood that something was wrong. She wished she hadn’t turned down his lunch invitation.

After a moment, she headed into the main gathering. She had been living in Gotham for a year and had become a regular attendee at society functions. Her striking beauty made her memorable, so she found many people who stopped her to exchange greetings and small talk. She put Clark out of her mind and concentrated on being her professional self. Meeting people at events like this one was essential to her business. Diana was not wealthy in her own right, but she needed only two or three large commissions in a year to maintain her lifestyle. She made her living by locating and acquiring art and antiques, usually pieces difficult to find. It was work that allowed her to travel and to make contacts in both the legitimate and illegitimate trade. She was good at tracking down stolen art, which could be lucrative. She could have made a fortune as a thief, and occasionally a client would assume she was open to that kind of deal, but Diana kept her work strictly legal.

She caught sight of Bruce through the crowd and headed his way, eager to see him again. But when she got closer, Diana saw that Bruce was with another woman. They were seated at a table, each with a glass of wine in hand. She was no one Diana recognised: the woman was surely no more than twenty two, very beautiful and dressed to impress. As Diana watched, Bruce leaned closer to the woman, whispering something into her ear. From another angle, it would have looked like a kiss, and the woman reacted as if it were; she smiled secretively, looking up at Bruce through long lashes. Bruce drew back and his fingers brushed her bare arm.

Diana stopped breathing.

The scene was entirely innocent, yet carefully calculated to seem otherwise, even to the woman. The depth of her feeling surprised her. She had no right to claim Bruce as her own but seeing him with another woman felt like a knife in her heart. She was frozen in place, unable to look away until Bruce raised his glass to his lips and, as he drank, his eyes turned toward Diana.

Only then could she wrench her eyes away. She turned, hoping the movement looked natural, and walked away. She through the crowd as quickly as she could without appearing to hurry, heading for the exit. She didn't expect Bruce to follow her; she wasn't certain he had even seen her there. But as she reached the large atrium she felt him beside her.

“Diana,” he said, “wait.”

She stopped. She turned around and met his look. She couldn’t find a single word to say.

“We can’t discuss it here,” Bruce said, keeping his voice low, “but will you let me explain before you judge me?”

“You don’t have to explain, Bruce.” Diana took refuge in dignity. She was an Amazon Princess: she could do dignity. Diana faced him with her back straight, her shoulders stiff, her tone dripping ice. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“That isn’t true, Diana.” He reached for her arm as if he intended to stop her leaving. He let his hand drop and glanced at the gathered reporters. “We can’t talk here,” he said again.

She understood, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to have this discussion. Reluctantly, she gave in. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” Her apartment was in Gotham and that was a long drive.

“I have an apartment in the city.”

“Alright.”

 

 

Bruce’s Metropolis apartment was new to Diana. It was spartan in a way that appealed to her: clean and simple lines, everything functional and in its place. On the surface it was not a place he lived, just somewhere to sleep occasionally. Then again, like the cabin in the lake, its simplicity could be deceiving. She found herself looking for signs of a concealed door.

Bruce wasted no time on hospitality. As soon as they were inside with the door closed, he asked her to sit.

Diana complied, taking a seat on the couch.

Bruce joined her there, sitting close, but not so close they were touching. “I want to explain something. I don’t want to seem patronising or anything like that. I just think it’s important I spell this out, even if you already understand it.”

“I’m listening,” Diana told him. She thought she knew what he was going to say. She was wrong.

“I don’t have any illusions about what I do, Diana. I’m not like you, or Clark Kent and I don’t mean that you both have...powers, and I don’t. What happens if the world finds out that you are Wonder Woman? Or that he is Superman? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Bruce was so serious, Diana gave the question a lot of thought before she answered. “For me, I suppose the worst is the publicity. I’ve worked hard to stay hidden, and most people I fought beside are gone now. For Clark, it could be much more difficult. He has a lover, family, friends.”

“It would be hard,” Bruce agreed. “There would be consequences, but you would still be able to live your lives. Different, maybe not what you want, but you would adapt. Batman is a _criminal_ vigilante. If my mask comes off, I will go to jail. Most likely, I’ll die there. Probably very badly.”

Diana felt herself turn pale. To hear Bruce talk so calmly about his own murder, it frightened her. She wanted to offer comfort or denial, but he would accept neither.

“I have heard,” she began hesitantly, “that when a man of great wealth commits a crime, justice can be bought.”

“When you’re talking about white collar crime, that’s true enough. Or the type of violent crime a man can pretend was heat of the moment - the right lawyer can persuade a jury. But not a twenty-year crusade. Not with the kind of money I’ve spent on it. Diana, I have no regrets. This is the reality I chose when I started this.”

Diana remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“The person everyone thinks Bruce Wayne is, that’s the mask that keeps me safe. He’s a jerk. He pretends to run a company, drinks too much, and treats women like crap. No one would believe he’s Batman. It's ridiculous.”

Diana nodded. “I understand that you are not the person you pretend to be, Bruce. And I don’t have any right to be upset about seeing you with someone else. I...I don't know...”

“You said that before, about not having the right. It’s not true, Diana.” Bruce smiled, a slow genuine smile. “There are days I can’t figure out whether we’re just friends or what we are. But I know what I want.” His hand slid over hers, warm, the skin rough. “Please believe that nothing was going to happen between me and that girl. I haven’t been with anyone else since the night I met you. You’re worth waiting for, Diana.”

Diana’s breath caught in her throat. His words were true; she could always hear a lie. She sensed a small thread of deception, perhaps he wanted her to read more into the statement than he had actually said, but it was no lie. That alone meant a great deal. It would be massively unfair to ask him for more time, or to equivocate any longer, even though Diana was sure he would wait if she asked. And, really, was it so difficult to make a decision?

“I needed some time away,” she began, trying to choose her words carefully, “because I had to have the distance to decide what I’m willing to give up.”

“Give up? I wouldn’t ask - ”

“I know that, Bruce. But you just explained it yourself. Bruce Wayne lives his life in the news for a reason. If we become a couple, we will be seen together, photographed together. You remember how much trouble we went to just to acquire an old photograph of me?”

Bruce nodded. “You’re right. If we’re together in public, those photos won’t go away. I didn’t think about it.”

“I think the risk of anyone finding more old photos is small and very few people remember Wonder Woman. If I could just go on being normal, human Diana it wouldn’t matter. But you and Clark have shown me that I can’t do that. I need to find Wonder Woman again. And that, too, has consequences.”

Bruce looked grave. He nodded slowly. “I understand.” He withdrew his hands from hers. He thought her words were a rejection.

“I’m not finished, Bruce,” Diana said softly.

“Sorry. Please, continue.”

“I don’t know if things can work out between us. I want to try, Bruce, and I’m sorry I made this difficult, but there’s something you need to understand about me, first.” She leaned forward to meet his eyes.

He slid closer to her on the couch. He raised one hand to cup her cheek. “Whatever it is, it won’t change how I feel.”

“I’m an Amazon. It means more than you think. You’re a man raised in a world that gives you a...a certain expectation of how a relationship is supposed to go. That’s not my world, or my culture. I can’t be that kind of woman.”

Bruce shook his head impatiently. “What the hell would I do with that kind of woman? Diana, you’ve seen the way I live.”

“I just need to be clear from the start. I’m not presuming anything about what you want or where this is going, but - ”

His finger touched her lips, silencing her. “You can’t, or won’t, tie yourself down. I already know that, Diana. I want you in my life. Tonight, tomorrow and for as long as we want.” He leaned in to kiss her. This time it was slow, his hands caressing her shoulders and her back.

Diana parted her lips beneath his and closed her eyes. She reached for him blindly, her hand encountering the warm silk of his shirt. She felt the contours of his muscled chest through the silk and slid her fingers between the buttons to touch his skin. The taste of alcohol was still on his breath, reminding her of the other woman. She drew back, gently: a pause, not a rejection.

He said nothing, but the question was in his eyes.

“Not here,” she whispered.

“Your place? Or we can go to the cabin. Alfred won’t be there tonight.”

She didn’t mind Alfred being around, but she had no need to say so. “The cabin,” she agreed.

 

 

It felt good to help people.

Clark wouldn’t have known about the fire in Juarez if Lex’s catering staff were not mostly Hispanic. A television in the kitchen was tuned to a Spanish-language channel. Clark learned the language during his years of travelling; he spoke it only just well enough to get by but he could understand when he heard it as easily as he understood English. So he caught the essentials of the breaking news report as it happened: a fire in a factory had spread to a nearby apartment building. Firefighters were on the scene but they had no way to reach the upper floors and there were people trapped. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it was _Dia de Muertos_ , and late enough that most of the adults were celebrating in the street while the youngest children slept inside.

He hated that the second thought that raced through his head, after figuring how quickly he could get there, was Senator Finch’s injunction. But she hadn’t limited him to the USA; she specified North America. Possibly she’d been covering her ass in case something happened in Alaska, but the words stood. He was free to act within the letter, if not the spirit, of the committee’s injunction.

By the time Superman appeared in the sky above the blazing buildings, it was clear the fire was hot enough to prevent the firefighters helping those trapped. The hoses were running, but the water barely contained the flames. He scanned the scene quickly, his alien vision cutting through flame and brick to the people within. Three children trapped in one room. Another at a window, calling to the crowd below for help they could not give. One more, sensibly wedged beneath the stairs, temporarily safe from flame but vulnerable to smoke. Five children. Superman dived in through the flames.

Word of his presence spread swiftly through the crowd, and with it, hope. The little girl at the window was panicking but she was actually safest of the five, so he went to her last. Her terrified scream dissolved into tears as he lifted her in his arms and held her close while he checked for signs of injury and found none. He heard a woman’s voice rise above the others, crying for her baby. Superman floated down to the gathered crowd, easily locating the woman who had cried out, and laid the little girl in her mother’s arms.

“She is well,” he told her in his imperfect Spanish. “She’s just exhausted.”

Superman felt a hand tug his cape, and then another. He heard murmurs all around him, voices whispering the same word, over and over: “ _Salvador_.” Saviour. All around him, people in colourful skull-masks gathered, reaching out to him, to touch his flowing cape, his shoulders.

He had forgotten the television cameras that had drawn him to the blaze, or he would have been more conscious of what it looked like. He would have stopped it. But after Finch’s judgemental eyes, after the lies and Bruce’s bruising words, it felt good to help. To know that not everyone saw him as they did. It felt good to be himself again.

When Clark reached Lois’s apartment he expected to find her in bed asleep. Instead she was curled up on the couch with his laptop open on her knees, the robe slipping from her shoulders.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asked. He sat on the arm of the couch so her back rested against his thigh while he peered over her shoulder. She was reading his Batman story.

“I saw you on the news. Wanted to wait up.” Lois tried to look up at him, but the angle was all wrong.

Clark slid down from the couch to his knees so he could kiss her. “That’s not exactly bedtime reading.”

“It’s good.” Lois read aloud: “‘Alec Yakovlev’s murder in prison has prevented a court of law examining the evidence but there seems little doubt he was guilty of heinous crimes. His wife and children, however, are the innocents now being punished by the Batman’s reckless disregard for human rights.’ That’s got real punch.” Lois closed the laptop and put it on the floor. “It would work better as two articles: strip the first one down to the facts of the story and pour all that passion and outrage into an opinion column alongside it. But it’s good.”

Clark’s heart sank. He had known Lois long enough to know that _good_ always came with an implied _but_. “Not good enough?” he asked wryly.

She rolled onto her stomach, looking at him over the arm of the couch. “Perry will say it’s not _Daily Planet_ material. It’s Gotham news, and Gotham is only interesting when the news is weird.” She reached out to touch his hair, brushing a wayward strand back from his forehead. Her blue eyes softened. “You know, if you keep pushing this Perry’s going to hand you a reference and tell you to go work for the _Gotham Gazette_.”

“There’s some appeal in that idea,” Clark admitted, though he wouldn’t willingly leave the _Planet_ as long as Lois worked there.

“Do you really want to publish this, though?” Lois asked. “You’re doing everything but call him out.”

Clark thought he had the balance about right: enough restraint to let Bruce know the article wasn’t a declaration of war, while making his views on vigilante justice clear. That was, if Bruce even bothered to read it. But someone who knew that Clark had the power to back up his threat might read the article very differently, which was now one purpose of the article.

“It’s not an issue. Anyway, the point is to make us look like enemies.”

“Well, it sure does that.” Lois was still playing with his hair. “You did a good thing tonight, but - ”

Just like that, his good mood was gone. “But what?” he snapped defensively. “I didn’t break the rules.”

“If the fire was in Brazil, not Mexico, would you have still gone?”

“Yes!” Clark declared, frustrated. Then, “Maybe. I don't know.”

_Criticising those who think they’re above the law is a little hypocritical, wouldn’t you say?_

Damn Bruce Wayne and damn Senator Finch! He should have thrown Finch’s orders back in her face, forced her to do her worst. He had known it was a mistake and he regretted it as soon as he left Washington, but he couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t take it back unless something happened that was big enough to justify defiance, and it wasn’t in Clark to wish for that kind of disaster.

“I’m sorry,” Lois said softly. “You did a good thing. I’m glad you saved those children.” Her fingers caressed his cheek. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. Not tonight, anyway.” Clark made an effort to shake off his anger; Lois didn't deserve it. Of all people, she didn’t deserve it. None of this was her fault.

He moved the laptop to the safety of the table. “I don’t want to talk about Batman. Or Perry.” He moved to lie beside her on the couch, well aware that there wasn’t enough room.

Lois squealed as his body pressed her into the cushions. “Clark! That’s never going to work!”

“You think so?” He floated on air beside the couch, propping his head up on his crooked arm, as if he lay on a solid surface. With his other arm, he reached across to pull her closer.

“Well, if you’re going to cheat...”

Clark kissed her, slowly, his thoughts still partly occupied with his troubles. When she parted his lips with her tongue, he slid his hand to the small of her back and rolled her over so she lay on top of him.

For about three seconds, Lois was too busy kissing him to notice they were both lying on empty air. When she did notice, she squealed and clutched his arms.

Clark laughed softly, his bad mood finally lifting.

Neither of them was going to sleep that night.

 

 

#### Gotham City

It was familiar scene, but Alfred could not help feeling disappointed when he entered the cabin. A bottle of vintage wine, open but not finished and left uncorked. A woman’s dress on the floor. The unmistakable smells of sex. Master Bruce, barely awake, sprawled on the bed and the sound of the shower running.

“Coffee, Master Wayne?” He offered dryly as he removed his coat.

Bruce raised his head from the pillow. He saw Alfred and sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover himself before Alfred was forced to look away. “Morning, Alfred.”

Alfred found the cork and began to work it carefully into the neck of the bottle. “Will it be breakfast for two, sir?”

Bruce came toward him with the bedsheet wrapped around his waist. “Just coffee. I let Diana take the shower first because she’s in a hurry. We both slept a bit late.”

Diana? That was unexpected. Alfred had assumed someone from the previous night’s party... He caught himself, reoriented his thinking and placed the wine bottle back on the table. “I’ll make it the Italian blend, then. I recall Miss Prince prefers it.”

“Alfred, could you go through the intel from last night? I meant to do it myself but...” Bruce gestured toward the bed with a smile that Alfred hadn't seen for many years. A smile he was glad to see again.

“Of course, sir.” He headed into the kitchen to make the requested coffee. If Bruce were alone, he would have followed Alfred into the kitchen and continued the conversation. If the woman were one of his casual affairs, he would have rushed through the coffee and escaped, leaving Alfred to explain the ways of the world to the woman.

Instead, Alfred prepared a tray: the silver coffee service and fine china. Although Master Bruce had refused breakfast, he served croissants with the coffee and carried the tray to the dining table, hastily clearing away the remaining detritus of the night before. He returned to the kitchen to fix a more substantial breakfast for himself: if he was going to spend the morning in the Batcave he wanted to be well-fortified. It could be very cold down there.

He was finishing his first cup of tea when Diana appeared in the doorway. “I have to hurry but I can't go without thanking you for breakfast. It was lovely. I’ll see you later?”

“Most welcome, Miss Prince,” he answered.

She offered a dazzling smile, and was gone. An instant later he heard her car leaving.

By the time Bruce was showered, shaved and dressed, Alfred had the cabin tidy: breakfast things cleared, bed stripped, wine back in the cellar.

Bruce came into the kitchen as Alfred was giving the silver coffee pot a final polish. He slumped back against the kitchen worktop. “What, no lecture?”

Alfred set the coffee pot on its shelf. “Lecture, Master Bruce?” he said with mock-innocence.

“Yeah, this is the part where you complain about me emptying my own wine cellar, or my debauchery. Come on, give me your best shot.”

Alfred smiled to see him happy. It was a long time since he had seen the boy he raised in the cynical and embittered man he had become.

“No lecture, sir,” he said. “Miss Prince is good for you.” Then, unable to resist, he pointed a finger at Bruce’s chest and said sternly, “Don't mess it up.”

Bruce laughed.

 

 

#### Metropolis

There were four alien vessels, that they knew of, on Earth during the invasion. Two were Zod’s ships: the first of them destroyed Metropolis before literally disappearing, apparently into a black hole above the city. The second, Superman destroyed over the Indian Ocean. What was left of that ship was a huge hunk of dead metal, a new island in the sea. The third vessel was the one that brought Superman to Earth. Little more than a pod, yet it was the one that somehow created that black hole, and like the first, was now gone forever.

And here, at last, was the fourth. Buried beneath the ice for thousands of years, discovered by a US scientific team studying the glacier, then stolen from the US military by Superman, who flew it to the one place on Earth the military couldn’t easily follow: Antarctica. Where it was found and commandeered by Zod, who flew it to Metropolis and crashed it into the harbour. Superman killed Zod, but did not reclaim the crashed ship.

Instead, the military took custody of the vessel. Scientists who examined it determined the vessel was still partially functional, but were unable to operate the technology. Convinced it was too dangerous to move the ship until they better understood the technology, they came up with an idea as practical as it was preposterous: they built their research facility _around_ the vessel. In Metropolis harbour.

It was insane, and brilliant. Lex loved it.

The vessel was partially submerged, but a platform had been constructed just above the high water line which allowed him to walk right up to the hull. The atmosphere in the hangar felt strange, the air a little damp with a metallic scent. Lex breathed it in, filling his lungs. He reached out and laid his palm on the hull. It didn’t feel like metal. Smooth, with hints of rippling just beneath the surface, and warm to the touch. Ceramic, maybe? Something along those lines.

“It’s beautiful,” he said aloud.

There was no response. His words seemed to fill the empty air around the vessel. He was completely alone. Good.

The MPs guarding this facility had become somewhat lax. Oh, they still controlled access, and Lex could not have come this far without authorisation, but once inside there were few men in sight. They relied on electronic security, and electronic security could be hacked.

Case in point: Lex took the modified cell phone from his pocket and made a call. “I’m in position,” he said when Mercy answered. “Activate.”

“Program running,” she answered.

Lex ended the call and pocketed the phone. He checked his watch. He estimated it would take approximately thirty minutes for the AI program he had written to penetrate the security system guarding the ship. Once in, the first task for his AI was to create several new entries in the security database, ensuring that Knyazev and his team could access the facility.

Knyazev would replace the MPs guarding the ship with his own people. There would probably be some violence involved, but that wasn’t Lex’s concern. While Knyazev did his thing, Lex’s AI would be duplicating and then reconstructing the security records for the past few days. This reconstruction would erase Lex’s previous visit from the record and create a false record of him leaving today. The operation would ensure that Lex could come and go as he pleased. He would have all the time he needed with the alien vessel, and no one would know until it no longer mattered.

Lex smiled to himself and walked around the vessel to its entrance.

 

 

“Crime wave in Gotham!” Perry declared, making an expansive gesture to indicate a headline on a billboard. As he lowered his hand, he looked back at Clark, “In other breaking news, water is wet. Let it go, Kent.”

Clark didn’t flinch. He adjusted his glasses and met Perry’s eyes. “Perry, when you choose what to print, you’re making a statement about who matters. About _what_ matters. The victims are poor immigrants, so this isn’t news. Is that it?”

“It’s not news, Kent, because this sort of crap happens every day.”

“And that’s a reason to ignore it? That ought to be a reason to scream it from the rooftops! The _Daily Planet_ used to stand for something. Justice. Truth.”

Perry slammed his hand down on the table. “The _Daily Planet_ used to have five million circulation. Now we’re lucky to get a quarter of that. For the last time, no one cares about Clark Kent taking on the Batman!”

“Poor people don’t buy papers,” Clark said.

“No one buys papers any more, period. And no one will buy your damned crusade. The American conscience died with Robert, Martin and John.”

Clark drew a breath to argue, and heard silence fall in the newsroom behind them. That was never good. He turned around as Jenny opened the door to Perry’s office.

“Perry, you should see this.”

Clark was through the door ahead of him. The TV screens, usually each tuned to a different channel - one for the stock market, CNN, Fox, a couple of European channels, and so on - had all been switched to the same one, and the sound turned up.

“...unconfirmed at present. Viewers are cautioned that this footage may be distressing.”

Video appeared on every screen, a passenger plane above the ocean. It was a 777, passenger capacity over five hundred. There was a roar of sound and the camera shook as if the person holding it had turned away and then it focussed back on the plane just as the tail end exploded. The plane rocked and started to nose-dive before a second explosion tore through the fuselage. Just before the footage cut out, Clark could clearly see little shapes, just specks on the screens, thrown clear of the disintegrating plane. People falling.

“Oh, my god.” Lois moved to Clark’s side. Automatically, he took her hand.

The anchor’s voice returned, “We now have confirmation of the flight number. The plane was flight UA2960 out of Cairo, bound for New York. We will have a number you can call for information available shortly. Stay tuned. Again, flight UA2960 out of Cairo has been lost over the Atlantic Ocean.”

Clark turned away and found himself looking into Lois’s stricken blue eyes.

“We have one hero who would rather terrorise innocents than help them, and another legally prevented from doing anything to help. What the hell is happening?” The words were angry, bitter.

“Clark,” Lois whispered. She reached out to touch his arm.

“Jenny, get me everything on that flight,” Perry ordered. “Was that a missile?”

“It looked like it,” Steve Lombard said. “Out of Cairo means terrorists. Daesh?”

“Follow that up,” Perry snapped. “And Kent.”

Clark turned to him, his expression still dark.

“Write your story from that angle, and I’ll print it. Lane, you have any sources in Cairo?”

“I’m on it,” she answered, but not in her usual crisp tone.

“A kitten out of a tree,” Clark muttered, and headed for the door.

He heard Lois behind him, but did not slow down. He needed to be outside, and the roof was closer. He made for the stairs.

Lois caught his arm. “Clark, please. What did that mean? A kitten in a tree.”

He kept moving up the stairs, but slower, so she could keep up. “It means Perry’s an asshole. He won’t print my story, but as soon as he saw a Superman angle... There could have been five hundred people on that plane, Lois. Five hundred. Families. Children.” He shoved open the door to the roof.

“Are you going to - ”

Clark stopped and turned to Lois. For a moment, he cupped her lovely face in his hand. “I’m sorry, Lois, I really am, but this time you can’t help. I need to go home.” He ran for the edge of the roof and took off into the sky.

 

 

#### Smallville

It was more than a year since the farmhouse in Smallville was destroyed by Zod’s people in their search for the Kryptonian Codex. Insurance didn’t completely cover the cost of rebuilding, but the government aid offered to everyone in Smallville in exchange for their silence about the battle filled the gap. A lot was lost forever: photographs, a china set passed through three generations, other things with sentimental value - those were irreplaceable. But the house was as good as new.

The farm had not been paying its way for years, and the destruction of the farmhouse was the final nail in that coffin. It could be made to pay again, with a lot of work and investment, but not by one elderly widow working alone. Instead, Martha found a job in a diner in town, earning enough to cover bills, if not much more. Clark wanted better for his mother, but she insisted that she loved the work, and she wouldn’t take help, even from her own son. If Clark wanted to move back in and be a farmer, she would have encouraged him gladly, but that life had never been his destiny.

Clark dropped out of the sky, unseen, a short distance out of town and walked the rest of the way down the familiar, dusty road. The walk should have calmed him, but it didn’t. Each step brought a number into his mind.

Five hundred and forty eight: the maximum number of people that could have been on that plane, including passengers and crew.

Forty thousand: the number of feet above sea level the plane was cruising when it was hit.

One hundred and eighty: the number of seconds it took a human body to fall that far without a parachute to slow the descent.

One hundred and twenty miles per hour: the speed a body would be travelling when it hit the water. At that speed, hitting the water would be like slamming into solid steel - every bone in the body shattered, internal organs ruptured, the body turned into chum, instantly.

Twelve: the number of seconds it would have taken Superman to reach the place where that plane was hit.

Five hundred and forty eight: the number of lives Superman could have saved, and hadn’t.

His eyes searched for Martha as he entered the diner. She was reaching up to a shelf, trying to reach a jar that was just a little too high. Clark smiled and plucked the jar from her outstretched fingers, kissed her quickly on her cheek and gave her the jar.

Martha smiled, so happy to see him she was glowing, and Clark instantly felt guilty for not visiting more often.

“Hello, Ma.” He returned her smile.

“Clark!” She hugged him, hard. “Go and sit down. I’ll finish this and bring you some breakfast.”

Clark obeyed, selecting a table near the window. There was a single television screen in the diner and it was showing the same news report he had seen at the _Planet_. There were no new details yet, but they showed the film of the explosions again. There wasn’t enough detail in the film for him to tell where it came from, but it was definitely a missile, likely ground-to-air, from the angle. There was a single impact, but two distinct explosions. Possibly the first set off a reaction that led to the second. Possibly something else happened.

Five hundred and forty eight passengers. Forty thousand feet. One hundred and eighty seconds. One hundred and twenty miles per hour.

A short stack and a milkshake appeared in front of him and Martha slid into the seat opposite. She glanced at the television. “I thought I’d see you there. What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“I couldn’t help them,” Clark said. He explained as simply as he could about the hearing, and the senator’s demand that he remain in North America. “If I go, my word means nothing. If I don’t...all I can think about is those people. It takes three minutes to fall forty thousand feet. I could have reached them in time.”

Martha reached across the table. “You can’t save everyone, Clark.”

“But I can try.”

“And this time you didn’t try.”

He nodded. “I know the chances are slim. Most of the people on board probably died in the explosion. But if I can save even one, shouldn’t I do it?”

As he spoke, he realised this was exactly what Bruce had warned him about. Superman had to be free to act. If rules or restrictions made him hesitate, even for a few seconds, those seconds cost people their lives.

“Why would they want to stop me?” He burst out, frustration rising to the surface again. “What gives them the right?”

“Clark, no one has that right unless you give it to them.”

He raised his head. “You’re right. It’s my fault.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s how it is. I agreed to this. I can take it back, but - ”

“Stop. What’s done is done.” She squeezed his hand. “I know this won’t help, but it would have taken more than three minutes for the TV station to get hold of that film. By the time you knew about it, it was almost certainly too late.”

 _Almost_. Clark bowed his head unhappily.

“This isn’t about what you did or didn’t do. It’s about who you are. No one can tell you who you are, Clark. No one.”

“Who am I, Ma?”

“My son.”

He had known she would say that, and he smiled in response. But it didn’t help.

 _Almost_ meant there was a chance. One hundred and eighty seconds versus twelve. Maybe even ten. _Almost_ meant that he might have reached them.

He would never know for sure.

 

 

#### Gotham City

The data Master Bruce retrieved from Luthor’s system during the benefit the night before was heavily encrypted. Either Luthor was up to something serious enough to merit this level of protection or he was wise to the Batman’s interest in his activities.

Feeling a little paranoid for doing it, Alfred isolated the Batcave’s computer network before he began the decryption. It would take longer, but If there was some kind of alert set, or Trojan horse triggered by an attempt to decrypt, isolating the network would defeat it.

While he waited for the data, Alfred opened the intelligence reports downloaded the previous night. The system Bruce had created was a complex network of spider programs that searched various targets - the World Wide Web, the so-called Dark Net, some government agencies, Gotham City Police and others - for anything related to a list of key words that changed depending on the Batman’s priorities. The system retrieved the information, indexed it and then served up a reading list in an order determined by some algorithm that Alfred would not even pretend to understand. Unfortunately, while its reading order worked for Bruce, who had speed-reading down to a fine art, it only served to irritate Alfred. But there was nothing else for it. He opened the first file and began to read.

Most of it was routine. The human trafficking ring Batman had been working against for several months appeared to be in its death throes. The last confrontation had ended violently, but arrests were made and no one died. Of the six men arrested, one was high enough in the organisation to make a deal with the DA, and his information could bring the whole operation down. If he survived to testify. Alfred marked that one for Bruce’s attention: the Batman would find a way to ensure the man lived long enough to be useful.

There was a memo from Senator Barrows’ office authorising Lex Luthor’s access to something indicated only as an ID number: Z-8302742-M. Alfred turned to the decryption program but it was still running, and he could not access any of that data until the decryption competed. He looked at the older database instead, entering the ID number and searching.

It seemed to take a long time.

Finally, a file flashed on screen. It was there for just a moment, not long enough for Alfred to read anything, then it was replaced with a banner: _Access Denied_.

Well, he knew how to deal with that. Alfred opened a communication program and entered the access code that would permit him to view classified material. Nothing happened.

Wait, nothing? Oh, of course, he had isolated the system. Could this wait?

Alfred wasn't certain. It could be nothing. LexCorp had a number of government contracts and nearly all of that work was entirely legitimate. On the other hand...

He called Bruce.

Alfred had no need to go through secretaries and assistants to reach the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, so he didn't know he was interrupting a meeting. Not that knowing would have stopped him.

He quickly explained what he had found, and was at first met only with silence.

“Master Wayne?”

“Sorry, just trying to remember that number. It’s familiar, not the actual number but the format. How long until the other job completes?”

“I can’t tell. Perhaps a few hours yet.”

Alfred heard someone trying to draw Bruce’s attention back to the meeting.

“One moment,” Bruce snapped impatiently, then, to Alfred, “What’s the size of the encrypted drive?”

Alfred turned to the program and read out the answer.

“Alright, that will take some time. I’ll head back as soon as this meeting is over, see if I can’t hurry it up for you.”

 

 

#### Washington DC

That plane. Flight UA2960.

The latest information from the airline put the number of dead at four hundred and eighty seven. More than half of them were American. It was, Senator Finch decided, as the make-up girl fussed with powders and brushes, a tragedy that could not have been avoided. That was the only line to take.

The world was becoming a more dangerous place every year, even before aliens invaded in search of Kal El, who turned out to be Superman. The terrorists were better organised, bolder and had access to more destructive weapons. Wars were sometimes shorter but brutal, leaving scars on population for generations to come.

What she could _not_ say, not on television, was that they had no way to know whether Superman would have saved that plane. Accidents happened every day: he didn't show up to all of them. The plane was hit by a missile and exploded. How could they expect that even Superman could have done anything in time?

But then, there was the rocket launch from Canaveral back in the summer. There had been no warning that something might go wrong. No agency was more cautious than NASA, no organisation tested and retested so rigorously before finally giving a mission the Go. None of the tests or simulations even hinted at the problem. But that small weak spot in a fuel tank ruptured at exactly the wrong moment and for a heart-stopping three seconds America watched some of its finest heroes trapped in an exploding rocket on the ground. And then Superman was there, somehow, impossibly carrying the section that held the astronauts away from the conflagration. They lost both rocket and launchpad, but the lives were saved and to NASA, if not to the government accountants, that was a fair exchange.

Three seconds from disaster to celebration, because of Superman.

So, yes, there was a chance. But no matter what she wanted to tell herself, no matter what doubts kept her awake at night, Senator Finch must not imply by word or even tone that she believed there was any chance at all that Superman could have saved Flight A2960. The plane was shot down by terrorists. It exploded at forty thousand feet. It could not possibly have been saved.

She brushed the make-up girl aside and looked at herself in the mirror. She was ready.

Bright lights, hot studio, the awful scent on her skin as the thick make-up warmed under the lights. Music, welcoming applause. Smile, not too warmly, walk across the stage, each step even but quick. Shake hands with the host, smile, exchange platitudes _so good to have you back on the show - happy to be here, Chris_. Take a seat, face the camera that swings into view. On.

Do not, by word or tone of voice, doubt that the plane was lost, with or without Superman.

 

 

#### Gotham City

Bruce scrolled quickly through the data on the screen. He knew LexCorp had found the Kryptonian armour and was reverse-engineering the technology. That was predictable and in all honesty if the armour had fallen into his lap he would have had Wayne Enterprises doing the same thing. He also knew Lex had talked his way into USAMRIID and that was more worrying. He didn't know what Lex had done there. It might have been unrelated to the Kryptonian invasion but Bruce knew that Zod’s body had been taken to a secret USAMRIID facility. It was likely Lex’s scheme somehow involved Zod.

“Senator Barrows authorised Lex to access whatever this is.” Bruce frowned at the information. “Alfred, run a deep check on the Senator. I need to know if he’s in Lex’s pocket or if he’s doing this for reasons of his own.”

“That will take some time, Master Bruce,” Alfred responded, even as he began the search.

“I know. I'm still trying to identify this project code. It's military...why would the army give him special access to... Oh, hell.”

“Sir?”

Bruce drew back from the screen, his mind racing. The connections were obvious but he still couldn't see the whole picture. Z-8302742-M was the code for the research station built around the Kryptonian ship in Metropolis Harbour. Lex had Kryptonite. He had access to the facility that kept General Zod’s body. Now he had access to the crashed ship. But what was his endgame? How did this connect to his scheme to kill Batman and Superman?

He needed an expert in Kryptonian technology. There was only one person who might fit that bill.

Bruce reached for the secure phone and dialled Clark Kent’s cell phone.

He got voicemail. He swore, hung up, and dialled again. This time he left a message. “It’s Batman. Call me. This is urgent.”

Unwilling to wait, he turned off the phone’s voice modulator and called the _Daily Planet_. He got the switchboard and asked for Clark Kent.

“Who should I say is calling?” the operator asked robotically.

“Just tell him I’m a source,” Bruce answered. He waited.

“I'm sorry, Mr Kent is not answering. I can transfer you to his cell.”

“No, I already tried that. Can you put me through to Lois Lane?”

“One moment, please.”

One moment stretched into ten seconds before Bruce heard the click of the call being forwarded, and then a fresh ringtone. He turned the modulator back on: Batman needed to talk to her, not Bruce Wayne.

“Lois Lane,” she answered crisply. Through the phone Bruce could hear street sounds around her: cars, footsteps.

“Ms Lane, this is Batman. I need to reach Clark. Where is he?” He was gambling that she knew he and Superman were acquainted, and that she wouldn't ask too many questions.

Lois answered, “I don't know. The plane this morning...he was really angry. He said he was going home - ”

What plane? What was she talking about? Bruce called up a news site and got the story quickly. It was a distraction, so he dismissed it.

“When you see him, tell him that Lex Luthor is - ”

Lois screamed. Bruce heard the crash of her phone hitting the concrete, a scuffle, muffled words. Then the line went dead.

Adrenaline flooded him and he shot out of the chair. “Alfred, I’ll need the plane.”

Alfred went white. “But, sir, it's daylight.”

Bruce swore.

 

 

#### Smallville

Her shift should have been over ten minutes before, but Martha still had tasks to complete, and preferably before the evening rush began. She was distracted because of her son’s visit. He hadn't returned, or contacted her, and she was worried. He had been unhappy, but Martha knew her son well enough to see the anger building beneath his misery. She knew what his anger could do if unleashed. She thought she had helped, but oh, she wished he would call! She wanted to be sure.

She heaved up the heavy trash bag and manoeuvred it through the narrow door into the alley behind the diner. She opened the dumpster, trying to hold her breath as the stench assailed her, and hauled it in. When she turned to go back inside, a man blocked her way.

He was tall, broad-shouldered with dark, greasy hair and a lot of tattoos. Not someone who would easily blend in in Smallville. Fear chilled her, but Martha wasn’t easily intimidated.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Martha Kent?” he asked, the words heavily accented.

“Yes...”

A hand clapped over her mouth from behind her and she was pulled back against a man’s body. Her scream was muffled by the hand across her mouth and she fought against the arms that held her. Something covered her eyes and she tried to scream again.

She felt a sharp pain in her arm, then cold, then nothing.

 

 

#### The Arctic

It was winter and the Arctic was entering its long night. Everything was dull and grey. The low sun even stole the colour from Superman’s cape, so the bright scarlet was a mere hint of colour in the endless twilight.

This bleak, frozen landscape had become the place he went when he needed solitude. Here, no one would come. No one would see. He shared the ice with Arctic foxes, seals and an occasional polar bear. Never anything human. Here, he was undisturbed.

_You are as much a child of Earth as of Krypton. You can embody the best of both worlds._

_The symbol of the House of El means hope. That’s what you can bring them._

_You’ve grown stronger here than I ever could have imagined. The only way to know how strong is to keep testing your limits._

_You will give the people of Earth an ideal to strive towards. They’ll race behind you. They will stumble. They will fall. But in time, they will join you in the sun, Kal._

He was not to blame for the people who died on that plane. Ma was right about that, at least: in the time it would have taken for CNN to get that video on air, they were dead. He could not have helped, even if he left Metropolis the instant he knew.

_You have to decide what kind of man you want to grow up to be, Clark. Because whoever that man is, good character or bad, he’s gonna change the world._

_All these changes that you’re going through, one day you’re going to think of them as a blessing. When that day comes, you’re going to have to make a choice. A choice of whether to stand proud in front of the human race or not._

He walked across jagged ice. He could feel the ridges and holes through his boots but barely felt the cold, though his breath turned to ice as it left him. Here, it was impossible to hide from truth, impossible to cling to comforting illusions or self-deception. This place had a way of forcing him to see clearly, and simply.

_The truth about you is beautiful. We knew that one day, the whole world would see that._

The simple truth was this: Superman would never again hold back when someone needed his help. He could not save everyone. There would always be the cries he heard too late, the blows that fell too fast for him to reach. But never again would he fail to try. He had been wrong to let anyone tell him otherwise.

Finch and her committee could go to hell. Superman would not be shackled by their fear.

Fuelled by his growing rage, he took off, leaving a crater in the ice and a sonic boom in the air. He sped upward, too fast for any system to track, through the stratosphere, and higher still through the mesosphere until he reached the very outer layer of the planet’s atmosphere. Here he was outside the range of the satellites that monitored the Earth. He flew toward the equator, still some three hundred miles above the ground. He _could_ survive up there for a long time, but it took effort, which was what he needed. To feel the strain in his body. To feel his lungs struggle to take in enough oxygen, his heart beat faster, his muscles burn. Slowly, his anger faded, not completely, but at least to the point where he was in control.

Only then did he fly downward, back to Earth. But he was not yet ready to go home. He flew, high enough that he could not be seen from the ground, across the continents.

Africa, with its wide Savannah and dense jungle.

North to Europe, ancient cities, wide rivers and open fields.

China, with its smog-filled cities and rocky desert.

South, across the ocean to Australia, lush coastline and harsher inland. He flew over Uluru, the massive red rock, and onward.

And it was there he heard the cry of warning and the groan of warping steel. Instantly, he changed direction, flying toward the sound. It came from one of Australia’s many mines. The steel headframe above the mineshaft was leaning dangerously. He could see men trapped in the cage, partway up the shaft.

Superman flew down and took hold of the headframe above the warped strut just as it began to topple. He pushed it back into place, steadying the cage, but that didn't do more than solve the immediate problem. The men below saw him and moved quickly to bring the cage to the surface. Superman held the headframe steady until every person was out of the cage.

When it seemed safe to release the frame, he flew down to examine the section that had warped. He could see no reason for the apparently sudden collapse, but it was the work of mere seconds to wrench the steel bar back into place, heat the end with his laser vision until it began to melt, then and weld it in place, creating a new, stable joint.

“Are there others below?” Superman called to the man who appeared to be in charge as he flew to the ground.

“Three crews.”

“It will hold long enough for you to evacuate, but the structure is weaker where I repaired it. It should be replaced before you reopen the mine. Is anyone hurt?”

He waited long enough to establish that no one was seriously injured then took flight once more.

 

 

#### Metropolis

Diana wrapped the silk scarf around her throat. There was a chill in the air; winter was on the way. She descended the steps from the Metropolis Museum and hesitated as she reached the bottom, pondering her next destination. She should call Clark and let him know she was free for lunch tomorrow.

Her Blackberry rang and she fished it out of her pocket. “Diana Prince speaking.”

“Are you in Metropolis?” It was Bruce’s voice, his tone urgent.

“Yes,” she answered instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Lois Lane is in trouble and I can't reach _him_. I'm too far away. I need Wonder Woman.”

“Where?”

“I'm tracking her phone but I don't know if it's still with her. The corner of Jefferson Street, heading toward the centre of the city.”

“I'm on my way, but Lois doesn't know me. Find him.”

“I will.”

 

 

#### Gotham City

The Bat mask and gloves lay on the work table beside him, but otherwise Bruce was ready to go. He still waited, though, in part for darkness, but mostly because he still had not heard from Clark. Of all the times to disappear in a funk, why this day?

There _was_ a way he could send a message that would reach Superman wherever he was, unless perhaps he’d gone to the dark side of the moon to sulk. (Could he do that? Bruce made a note to ask him someday. It would be useful to know the limits of Superman’s powers.) He could use a hypersonic frequency and tap into the worldwide satellite network to broadcast across the globe. The trouble with that solution was that he might only be able to do it once. Military authorities tended to take a dim view of their networks being hacked; they would find and plug the back doors Bruce was ready to exploit.

And so, he waited, tracking the GPS signal he hoped was Lois Lane, updating Wonder Woman with each change of direction.

“Batman, she's not here.” Wonder Woman's voice crackled over the comm. “They left her phone in a cab. The driver knows nothing.”

 _Damn it_. He switched plans without missing a beat. “Try the LexCorp building. I don't know that he's behind this but it's the worst possibility.”

“Alright. Any word?”

“Not yet.” He cut the comm and shut down every screen. For this, he needed all his resources. He turned to his oldest friend. “Alfred, we’re going to use the satellite uplink. You take the south. The program will handle the hack but you need to watch for countermeasures. We need time to get the message through.

Alfred nodded curtly and moved into position at the console. “Ready.”

It was beautiful, really, watching the program he had been working on for years finally let loose. One by one the backdoors opened to Batman’s system: NASA, ESA, the Russian network, China, Australia, more. He pulled them together until he had a web that reached all around the planet.

The major weakness of broadcasting in this way was that the message could not be encrypted. It would not be audible to human ears, but anyone with a recording device would be able to adjust the frequency and find the words. He had to be careful what he said.

Batman broadcast: “Superman, I know you can hear this. Whatever you are doing, drop it. You are needed in Metropolis.” He put the message on repeat for sixty seconds, hoping for at least that long before the various agencies started kicking him out of their networks.

“When the broadcast stops,” He instructed Alfred, “shut the system down and reboot. That will stop them tracing the hack to us.” He pulled the Bat mask over his head and reached for the gloves.

“That will break my contact with you,” Alfred objected.

Bruce was already headed for the Batplane. “Only for as long as it takes to reboot. I'll stay on the line.”

“Good hunting, sir.”

Batman answered with a vicious smile.

 

 

It was not full dark, but the city lights were visible from a long distance as Superman sped over the ocean. As he came closer to the bay, he could pick out familiar details. He saw the searchlight with the bat in its centre, reflecting off the clouds.

He made for the light and saw the caped figure of Batman beneath it, watching the sky.

Superman streaked down and landed right in front of him, the impact of his boots throwing up a shower of broken concrete.

“You’re a hard man to find,” Batman said. He brushed concrete dust off his costume.

“What’s happened?” Superman demanded.

And then he heard Lois scream.

 

 

#### Metropolis

Lois had no idea how long she had been tied up in the trunk of this car. She had a blindfold over her eyes, cable ties around her wrists and ankles and the space was so tiny she could barely move.

She had been on the phone when they - whoever they were - grabbed her, so at least one person knew she was in trouble. She had to believe Batman would get word to Clark. It wasn't in her nature to lie there and wait for rescue, but as it turned out, there was very little else she could do. When the trunk first slammed closed on her, she tried kicking at the sides, hoping someone would hear. But the movement made the ties around her ankles dig painfully into her skin. She did her best to ignore the pain, but after what felt like an hour of trying she had to give up.

By then the car had apparently reached its destination because there was no more engine noise, but Lois had no idea where she was, and no one came to get her out of the trunk.

She was left there, alone, for a long time. She could not free her hands or feet. She could not remove the blindfold over her eyes. She smelled gasoline and oil. She could hear, distantly, the sounds of the city: cars,construction...wait, construction - big construction - told her something about where she was. If she was still in Metropolis, there were two major construction sites in the city. One was the new Triad tower, the half-completed replacement for one of the buildings destroyed in the invasion. The other was further out, a new building owned by some technology company. She didn't know what was in the vicinity of the second, but the Triad was next to the new LexCorp tower, not far from Heroes’ Park and the harbour.

But while it was tempting to connect her predicament with Lex Luthor, it was a huge assumption. She couldn't tell where she was, not for sure. Even if she was right, did knowing that help her at all?

She heard someone approaching, a heavy tread, but just one set of feet. Whoever it was opened the trunk and she felt hands on her roughly hauling her out.

“Let go of me! What the hell is this?”

She was dumped unceremoniously on the cold, hard ground. With her ankles and wrists tied, she could not stand, let alone run. She raised her hands to her face, trying to claw the blindfold off. The cable tie ripped into her already raw flesh and she let out an involuntary moan. Her captor gripped her upper arm and pulled her upright, so hard she feared he might dislocate her shoulder.

She couldn't stand on her own until he snapped the ties around her ankles. Even then, she felt horribly unsteady but when he pulled her forward she managed to stay with him without falling.

“Who are you?” Lois demanded. “What do you want?”

“Shut up.” The voice was baritone, the words clipped, not enough to discern an accent. The barrel of a gun pressed into her side. Lois decided it was best to be quiet.

They walked for what felt like a long time but was probably no more than three hundred metres. She was shoved against a hard, smooth wall and heard a familiar swish of electrical doors closing. There was a moment in which all she heard was her captor’s harsh breathing. Then they began to move upward. She was in an elevator.

The elevator continued upward for a very long time, telling her she was headed to the top of a very tall building. Again, she thought of LexCorp tower. If Lex was behind this, again, she was almost more afraid of what Clark would do than she was afraid for herself. He was so angry, if Lex turned himself into a target there was no predicting what might happen.

Finally, she heard the elevator door open and a cold wind swirled around her calves. Her captor pushed her a few steps forward, tugged at her wrists and cut the plastic away.

She felt the gun against her spine.

“Keep walking,” he ordered.

Lois obeyed, walking blindly forward. The ground seemed to sway under her feet and she stumbled. Flailing to regain her balance, she pulled the blindfold off. The wind caught the fabric and it fluttered away. She blinked to focus her eyes.

It was almost fully dark. That was the first thing she registered, that evidence of how long she had lain in the trunk. The second was where she was: a helipad, high, so high above Metropolis. She could see clear across the bay and her heart pounded harder when she recognised the bat signal in the sky. She wasn't alone.

Then, she saw Lex, waiting for her. He wore a long, grey duster over his usual white.

He smiled, for all the world as if she were an old friend who had dropped in to visit, and opened his hands in a welcoming gesture. “Lois Lane! Come see the view.”

He came toward her and before she could back away, had curled his arm around her shoulder. Lois tried to shake him off and he tightened his grip, surprisingly strong. The ground moved beneath her feet and her head swirled with vertigo as he led her toward the edge of the helipad.

The newly completed LexCorp Tower was the tallest building in Metropolis. Lois fixed her eyes on the signal across the bay. Had he found Clark? Oh, please let him have found Clark!

Lex squeezed her shoulder, pulling her even more tightly against his body. She smelled his skin. “The secret to building this high is in the material. Light metals, which sway a bit in the wind.” He swayed from side to side as he spoke, moving her with him. Lois wanted to throw up.

“Now, you know something about LexCorp metals, don't you, Miss Lane?”

The connection clicked in her mind. He had hacked her work computer. Maybe the whole _Daily Planet_ network. He had found the data Clark gave her about the armour and knew she had made the connection to the Nairomi incident. And if he had found that, he knew that harming her would not kill the story. She had an edge.

Lois tore herself out of his hold and faced him. “I can prove what you’ve done. The stolen technology, the ambush in the desert. All of it.”

Lex laughed, and it sent a chill through her. “Oh, you're feisty. Unfortunately, that will blow away. Like...sand in the desert.”

“You’re psychotic,” she said, with all the contempt she could muster.

It didn’t faze him. “That is a three-syllable word for any thought too big for little minds.” he declared. He whirled away from her, raising his arms as if he were dancing.

 _Clark said he was a psychopath_ , she reminded herself. _He is capable of anything. Be careful._

Lex turned back to her abruptly, one finger raised. “Next category: circles!” He said, and it sounded so ridiculously random that Lois couldn’t respond.

“Round and round and round they go to find Superman,” he rambled, walking around her as if to illustrate his words. “No, wrong category, boy. Triangles. Yes, Euclid’s triangle and equalities and the shortest distance between any two points is a straight path.”

Was he _high_?

Lex was suddenly at her back, leaning close, his chin almost resting on her shoulder. All the merriment vanished from his voice. He said, in a tone suddenly deadly, “And I believe the straightest path to Superman is a pretty little road, called Lois Lane.”

He shoved her, hard. Unable to stop, she stumbled forward and fell. Into empty air. She screamed.

 

 

“Batman, Wonder Woman,” Alfred’s voice came across the comm. “There’s something very odd happening at the research facility in the harbour.”

“This isn't a good time,” Wonder Woman answered, keeping her voice low so Lex Luthor would not hear. He had been waiting on the helipad for nearly ten minutes, pacing. Now the elevator she was hiding beside was moving; she figured one way or the other she would need to move very fast, very soon.

“Explain, Alfred,” Batman said.

“Huge fluctuations in the power grid. It’s as if that one building is suddenly drawing in all the power it can.”

“He’s coming. We’ll check it out. Keep us updated.”

Wonder Woman watched from the shadows beside the elevator as its doors opened and Lois Lane emerged.

“You were right,” she sent across the comm to Batman. “They are both here.” She prepared to move, one hand hovering over her lasso.

“...And I believe the straightest path to Superman is a pretty little road, called Lois Lane.” With no more warning than that, Lex shoved Lois hard with both hands.

She took an involuntary step and plunged off the helipad. Wonder Woman heard her scream as she fell.

She dived after Lois, flinging out the lasso as she fell, making her body an arrow, seeing Lois below her, getting closer, catching the other woman just as the lasso arrested her fall and they swung together over the street far below.

“Hold on!” Wonder Woman gasped, holding Lois against her as her eyes searched for a way down. The lasso stretched to its limit and the momentum swung them back toward the building. The only way out seemed to be through. She would have to go through the glass and into the tower. No way to protect Lois from that.

And then Superman was there, effortlessly lifting them both, slowing their momentum as Wonder Woman pulled the lasso free from its anchor above. He carried them to the ground. Wonder Woman released Lois as the woman collapsed into Superman’s arms.

She saw something of what made Lois Lane his match when, a moment later, she straightened, smoothed her skirt and pulled away from him.

“He said he wanted you,” she told Superman.

“Good. Because I'm ready to talk to him.” Superman looked at Wonder Woman. “Thank you. I was almost too late.”

Wonder Woman nodded an acknowledgement. “You were right on time, Kal. But I’m glad I was here to help.”

“Keep her safe. I'm going to deal with Luthor.”

What else could she do? “She's safe with me,” Wonder Woman promised as Superman rose into the sky.

Lois rounded on her. “Who the hell are you?”

 

 

There was something very wrong with this picture. Lex Luthor knew how easily Superman could kill him, or worse. He should have been terrified. He should have been running.

He was sitting on the helipad, waiting, winding an oven timer in his hands when Superman reached his height. Superman didn’t land. He didn’t trust himself to get that close, not yet. Instead he hovered in the air. He recognised the ring on Lex’s finger. Did he really believe a chunk of kryptonite would protect him now?

Lex looked up as Superman rose into view, and smiled as he scrambled to his feet. “Boy, do we have problems up here!” he declared. He sounded happy about it. “The problem of evil in the world. The problem of absolute virtue.”

Superman had no interest in Lex’s psychotic ramblings. “I’ll take you in without breaking you,” he said angrily, “which is more than you deserve.”

“The problem of _you_ , above all,” Lex went on as if he hadn’t heard. “Ah, because that’s what God is, isn’t it? What we call God depends on our tribe, because God is tribal. He takes sides.” The last word was snarled.

Superman moved closer, slowly, not threatening. Lex had no place to hide up here.

“No man in the sky intervened when I was a boy to deliver me from Daddy’s fists and abominations,” Lex went on. “I figured out way back that if God is all powerful, he cannot be all-good. And neither can you be.” He made a sharp gesture, warning Superman to back off.

Superman remained where he was. He was listening now, aware that for the first time he was seeing the real Lex Luthor. A man as much hidden behind a mask as he and Batman were. There was something important here. Something he needed to understand.

Lex pointed to the city below them. “They need to see the fraud you are. The blood on your hands.”

“What have you done?” Superman demanded. He landed on the helipad and stalked toward Lex.

“And tonight, they will!” Lex crowed. “Yes. Because you, my friend, have a date. Across the bay.”

Almost involuntarily Superman turned to look. The spotlight still shone into the sky, Batman waiting beneath its signal. But not, he realised, for the reason Lex thought. Bruce had been right about Luthor’s endgame. Lex had already lost; he just didn’t know it.

“You will fly to him,” Lex demanded, his voice rising to a shout, “and you will battle him to the death. Black and blue. Fight night. The greatest gladiator match in the history of the world. God versus man. Day versus night. Son of Krypton versus Bat of Gotham!”

He was deranged. Superman shook his head. “You really think I’ll fight him. For you?”

“Yes, I do! I think you will fight. Fight! Fight! For that special lady in your life.”

Superman watched him grimly. “Lois is safe on the ground. How about you?” It would be a real pleasure to toss this man off the building...

Lex raised a hand, reaching into his coat with the other. “Close, but I am not talking about her. Oh, no. Every boy’s special lady is his mother!” With a triumphant flourish, Lex produced a handful of photographs, fanned out like playing cards. He waited just long enough for Superman to recognise Martha Kent before he threw them at Superman’s chest.

The realisation drained him of strength faster than Kryptonite ever could.

Superman dropped to his knees and reached for one of the photographs. His mother’s face, her hair tangled, a cloth covering her mouth. She looked frightened. He looked at them all, fifteen photographs in all, all much the same. There was no clue in any of the images to indicate where she was, or who had her. She was frightened. She should never have to be frightened.

Something inside him snapped and when he looked up he knew his eyes were filled with fire. He barely had enough control to hold it inside.

“ _WHERE IS SHE?_ ” Superman roared, his voice barely human.

Lex leapt back, holding up both hands. His heart was beating faster, sweat beading on his forehead. Finally, he was afraid. But he laughed. He _laughed_ and sang delightedly, “I do not know! I would not let them tell me!”

He danced toward Superman. “Now, if you kill me, Martha dies,” Lex giggled. “And if you fly away, Martha dies.” He bent and spoke more evenly, “But if you kill the Bat, she lives.”

Kill the Bat. Kill the Bat. Murder Bruce Wayne, to save his mother’s life.

Superman bowed his head, struggling to control himself. _You think you can threaten my mother!_ Slowly, the fire left his eyes. He would not kill. Not Lex, and certainly not Batman.

He heard the blades of the helicopter's approach just before the wind it generated scattered the photographs in all directions. He had barely been aware of its approach.

Lex moved toward the helicopter. “Cameras are waiting at your ship for the world to see the holes in the holy! Yes the almighty comes clean about how dirty he is when it counts. To save Martha, bring me the head of the Bat.”

He threw the oven timer at Superman. “Mother of God, will you look at the time! When you came here, you had an hour.” Lex climbed up to the helicopter’s door and hissed vindictively, “Now it's less.”

He climbed inside as it rose into the air, leaving Superman on his knees on the helipad. On his knees, but not as helpless as he seemed.

Superman opened his senses to the city. Martha had to be close by; nothing else made sense. She knew what he could do better than anyone. She knew he would be searching for her. The sounds of the city clamoured in his head and he tried, desperately, to sort through what he heard, to isolate the voices, to find his mother. He didn’t need words, he would know the sound of her breathing. She had to be here. She had to be.

But Metropolis was not Smallville. There were too many people, too many voices clamouring for attention. Perhaps he could have found her that way, but not in time.

He rose to his feet and saw the Bat-signal across the bay. Kill the Bat.

 

 

“You called him Kal,” Lois pressed. “Are you from Krypton?”

Wonder Woman waved the question away. “No. Please, I’m trying to listen.” Lex was insane, that much was clear. How he imagined he would get away with this scheme, she didn’t know. If Superman didn’t take him down, Batman would.

Then she heard, _Bring me the head of the Bat_.

“Batman,” she said urgently. “He’s coming to you. Help him! I’ll take the ship.”

“Understood,” Batman responded instantly, to her relief.

Wonder Woman turned to Lois. She had promised to keep her safe. She couldn’t leave her here alone.

“You are going to tell me what’s going on,” Lois insisted.

Wonder Woman nodded. The timing was terrible, but she understood how Lois must feel. This was a lot to take in. “We have to get to the harbour, quickly,” she began.

Lois stepped into the street and hailed a passing cab. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

Wonder Woman stifled a laugh and climbed into the cab.

Lois gave their destination to the driver: “The harbour, as fast as you can.” She turned to Wonder Woman as the cab pulled away from the sidewalk. “Talk fast, lady. Who are you, what are you and how do you know Cl...him?”

“I’m his friend,” Wonder Woman said. “We’ve known each other for about six months. I called him Kal because, well, origins and bloodlines are important to my culture and it’s how I think of him. I’m not one of his people but we have some similar abilities.”

“You have a name?”

“Wonder Woman,” she answered.

“Right.” Lois took in the costume with a glance that spoke volumes.

More quietly, she added, “Diana. But that’s between us.”

“And you’re with Batman?”

Wonder Woman hesitated, but there was no time for complex explanations. “Tonight, we are in contact, yes. Listen, Lois. Lex Luthor has been planning this for a long time. You are not the only one in danger. He has Kal’s mother.”

“Why?” Lois asked, her cheeks suddenly pale.

“It would take too long. Batman and Kal will find her. Lex has done something to the Kryptonian ship in the harbour. It’s my job to figure out what. And stop him.”

“Our job,” Lois insisted.

Wonder Woman smiled. “Ours,” she agreed.

 

 

#### Gotham City

 _Help him_ wasn’t much of a heads-up, Batman thought. He was lucky Superman wasn’t tempted to take the short-cut Lex had offered him. If someone had given Bruce Wayne a chance to save _his_ parents’ lives, he would have taken it without a thought of whether it was right or wrong. And this might still end with Superman making that choice.

He reached up and killed the Bat-signal. “If this is his endgame, Lex is watching,” Batman said. “We have to fight.”

“No!”

“Listen, you idiot, he has to think you’re going along with this. Now hit me, and take this fight where he can’t watch!”

Superman was not slow. Before the last word was out of his mouth, Batman was airborne. All the breath went out of him. He barely had time to realise what was happening before he was crashing through glass, and then through brick. He felt the impact in every bone when he hit the floor.

Batman got to his feet, more than a little dazed, but unbroken. They were inside one of the abandoned warehouses. Good enough.

“I need a location on Anatoli Knyazev,” Batman instructed. “And Mercy Graves.” He didn’t wait for Alfred to respond, but turned to Superman. “Lex doesn’t trust many. One of them has Martha. The locations should tell us which.”

“We can go to both if - ”

Batman interrupted him. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but there are more important things. You have to go to Metropolis Harbour - ”

“I’m not going anywhere until I know my mother is safe!”

“I promise you, I will find her and keep her safe. I swear it, Clark. But you have to be at the harbour. Whatever Lex has done to that ship could kill a lot of people, and you are the only one who understands that technology.”

“Mercy Graves is at LexCorp tower,” Alfred reported. “Knyazev is in the old chemical plant on Cedar Road.”

“Where is that?” Superman demanded.

Then Alfred cut in, the alarm clear in his voice. “Batman, the ship is - Oh, god!”

“Report!” Batman barked.

“Sir, Metropolis just went dark. The whole city.”

Superman stared at him for a moment the indecision clear on his face. “Promise me,” he said.

“I promise,” Batman answered, and in a sudden wind, Superman was gone. “Wonder Woman?” he said quickly, already running for the Batplane.

“We are okay,” Diana’s voice came back to him.

Batman felt the relief wash over him as he reached the plane. He leapt aboard. “He’s on his way to you,” he told Wonder Woman. “I’ll join you soon.”

First, he had business to settle with Anatoli Knyazev.

 

 

#### Metropolis

“Looks like this is as far as we can go,” the cab driver announced, somewhat unnecessarily. The traffic was gridlocked with cars attempting to move in the opposite direction and, a short distance ahead, flashing blue lights indicated a hastily-erected police roadblock.

“We’re close.” Lois indicated the window with a nod of her head and Wonder Woman, looking past her, saw the huge statue at the heart of Heroes’ Park.

“Let’s go,” she agreed.

Lois paid the driver and followed Wonder Woman without waiting for change. They hurried across the park toward the research and containment facility that held the Kryptonian scout ship.

They were halfway across the park when every light in Metropolis went out. For an instant, the city was plunged into darkness and silence, not even vehicle headlights shining, as engines stalled and horns fell silent.

Wonder Woman reached for Lois’s hand as her eyes swiftly adjusted and kept moving. Slowly, light and sound returned: vehicles first, engines rumbling back to life, lights flickering and brakes squealing. The buildings and street lights, however, remained dark.

A flash, magnesium-bright, filled the park. Lois gasped.

“That came from the harbour,” Wonder Woman said and began to move faster, pulling Lois with her. They reached the tall fence that surrounded the facility and she looked at her companion. Wonder Woman could jump the fence easily, but she couldn’t carry Lois with her, and if she were to keep her promise to Superman, she couldn’t leave her behind, either.

“No way,” Lois said, as if Wonder Woman had asked her to wait, or hide.

“Diana, look up,” Superman’s voice came from somewhere above them.

She obeyed automatically, searching the dark sky for some sign of him. He was very far above.

“I see you, Kal.” She spoke at normal volume, trusting his keener senses as he had trusted hers.

“He’s here?” Lois looked up, craning to see.

“Any word from Batman?” Superman asked her.

“No, but you can trust him. He will die before he breaks his word to you.”

“I can’t go in there until I know she’s safe.”

Wonder Woman understood. She touched the comm. “Batman.”

Immediately, his voice came back. “I’m a...bit...busy!” he grunted and she heard the roar of an AK-47.

“Need any help?” she asked casually, making light of it because she knew Superman heard everything she did.

The gunfire chopped off. “Piece of...cake,” Batman sent, but he was breathing hard. “Is he with you?”

“He can hear you,” she confirmed.

“Then I’ll leave the comm open. This won’t take long.”

“Kal?” Wonder Woman looked up to where he hovered, high above the facility.

“I’m listening. Thank you,” he said. Then, in a very different voice, “Oh, no. Lex, what have you done?”

“Kal?” Wonder Woman spoke sharply.

“Luthor is inside the ship. He’s activated the genesis chamber. I don’t know how. He has no idea what he’s doing.”

“Genesis chamber?” she repeated and saw Lois’s eyes go wide, her face draining of colour.

“You know about this?” Wonder Woman asked.

Before Lois could answer, Wonder Woman heard Batman’s voice over the comm. “I believe you,” he said, answering someone she hadn’t heard. There was a single, loud gunshot, a man’s scream of pain and then Bruce said, “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m a friend of your son.”

A woman’s voice, muffled by the comm and somewhat shaky, answered. “I figured. The cape?”

And Batman chuckled. “You’ll be fine. D, tell him I’m taking her to safety, then I’ll join you both.” The comm cut out.

Superman dived through the roof of the facility with a loud crash.

“We have to get inside!” Lois moved toward the gate.

They would not get in that way. The gate was guarded. Wonder Woman pulled her back. “We will. Just wait.”

 

 

When he last saw it, the genesis chamber was intact, its strange substance a dark shape filled with stars. It had been beautiful, and frightening, even before Superman understood what it was.

Now it was ugly. The chamber was partly flooded with a mixture of water and blood. Light shone through that awful liquid so everything he saw had a pink tinge to it. Lex stood in the middle, bloody water soaking into his white pants, his hand outstretched toward a huge gelatinous blob. The whole room reeked of old blood and rotten meat.

Superman hovered above the surface. “What have you done?” he asked, disgusted.

Lex turned around, raising his outstretched hand as if conducting music. “You’re late,” he snapped, “and one Bat-head short, I see.” His phone rang and he smiled gleefully, touching the screen to answer the call. “Hello, hello! Break the bad news!”

Superman waited.

“I’d rather do the breaking in person,” Batman’s voice rasped over the speaker.

Lex stopped breathing for a moment.

“You’ve lost,” Superman told him, moving forward.

There was a crackling sound like electricity and another blinding flash forced him to close his eyes. He heard a splash.

“No! I cannot let you win!” Lex cried.

When Superman could see clearly again, that ugly gelatinous blob was splitting open. Something inside it...something like a huge, meaty hand, pushed its way through the slit. A shape appeared, eyes glowed, a mouth opened in a silent scream.

And Lex stood before it, unafraid. Smiling.

It rose above him, vaguely human in shape but oh, it could not possibly be human. Or animal. A monstrous thing of muscle and grey-green skin, and teeth.

“Ancient, Kryptonian abomination,” Lex said reverently. He raised his hand, palm-out and Superman saw a red gash across his skin. “Blood of my blood! Created with one purpose, one mind. To kill _you_ , Superman.”

And the thing roared. And Lex moved. And it pulled itself out of the chamber with a horrible, squelching, sucking sound, and it was big, much bigger than Superman had thought at first. It drew back one gigantic hand and lunged for him.

Lex cried out, but Superman had no time to see what happened. He could only guess that in its haste to attack, the creature had knocked Lex out of the way.

Superman flung out his hands, catching it, stopping the wild thrust but it was strong, so strong! It flung him away and he careened, out of control, through the wall of the ship, through the wall of the building. He managed to stop his flight over the water and dived back in as it thrust itself through the roof of the building.

Superman had time for only one thought: keep it away from the city!

 

 

It was the stuff of nightmares or horror movies: a great hulking _thing_ fighting its way through rubble.

Lois stood, frozen, her terror not for herself but for the man she loved. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was there. He had to be.

Beside her, Wonder Woman stood straight, apparently unfazed. “You need to find shelter,” she said.

Lois shook herself. “Can you fight that thing?”

Wonder Woman bared her teeth in an expression that was half smile, half snarl. “I’ve killed worse than that before. But I promised to protect you.”

“Go. I’ll be fine,” Lois insisted.

The two women exchanged one final look, and then Wonder Woman took off at a run. Lois watched her leap onto the creature’s back as it stumbled toward the city. She drew a sword from a scabbard across her back and thrust it into the monster’s flesh. It roared. Lois saw Superman take advantage of the moment to grab its huge arm, pulling it backward.

They would be okay. They had to be okay. Lois could do nothing to help them, but she had no intention of hiding in a hole until it was over. She looked up at what was left of the facility. If there had been guards, they were gone. The fence that had surrounded the facility was missing; the monster still wore part of it. A great hole in the building, torn from roof to floor, made locked doors useless. Moving carefully in the darkness - it wouldn’t do to twist an ankle now - Lois picked her way across to the building and climbed through the hole.

The fallen scout ship lay at an odd angle, partially submerged in the water of the bay. They hadn’t even dry-docked the vessel, just built their shell around it, water and all.

This was the ship where she first met Clark, long before he was Superman. She had gone to investigate reports of something huge found beneath the Canadian glacier and followed the strange man who climbed down there alone, without even basic safety equipment, to investigate the find. Following him aboard she was attacked by the ship’s security system. Clark saved her life and then vanished. Lois’s long quest to track down her mysterious saviour ended with her falling in love.

Lois found the way into the ship. A set of steps had been installed, making entry easy, but she approached the ship with caution, not knowing if the security system that almost killed her before might still be active. But there was no sign of the strange, floating robots that guarded the ship before, and she moved onward with a little more confidence.

As she moved further into the ship, what she was seeing became more familiar. Lois knew more about this technology than any other human. Jor-El had taught her, so that she in turn could teach his son how to save the Earth from Zod and his people. Evidently, she remembered more of Jor-El’s lesson than she thought, because she found the way to the genesis chamber easily.

The genesis chamber was an advanced cloning facility, or at least that was as closely as Lois could understand it. From a genetic sample, it could create a fully formed adult Kryptonian, independent and capable of immediately assuming its intended role in their society. But it wouldn’t work with just any genetic sample. You couldn’t clone yourself, for example. To work properly, to create a perfect Kryptonian individual, it needed a sample from the codex. Which, in a way Lois didn’t understand at all, now meant from Clark. From Kal-El. Any other source would be tainted. Such tainted genes had been used in the past for experimentation, but the results had been unpredictable. _Abomination_ , was the word Jor-El used.

Lex Luthor couldn’t have known any of this. He shouldn’t have known how to operate the technology at all! But Lois had known, the moment Wonder Woman named the genesis chamber, that he had created something horrible.

She climbed through the door to the chamber and the smell hit her at once. God, it stank like something died in here! The ground was wet and slick with something she didn’t think was water. She held onto the wall for balance as she made her way inside.

Lex Luthor lay, half in, half out of the bloody liquid, his eyes open but apparently unseeing.

The sudden surge of hatred Lois felt stopped her short. He threw her off a building! He nearly got her and Jimmy killed in the desert. He used her to get to Clark. He used her!

Never again.

She looked around for a weapon, but saw nothing. Perhaps it didn’t matter. They were alone; she could take a scrawny little kid if she had to.

She moved closer to him. “Get up,” she barked.

Lex rolled over, getting more of that awful stuff on his clothing. He looked up at her and she saw the bloody gash on the side of his head. That explained why he seemed out of his head. “I gave them every chance,” he said. “Every chance.”

“Get up, asshole,” Lois repeated. It wasn’t as if she could enforce the order, but she tried to sound confident.

“There cannot be gods among us.” Lex tried to get up, but his foot slipped and he splashed back down again. “If man cannot kill god, the devil will.”

Lois shook her head. “So, what? You made a devil?”

Lex giggled. “Blood to blood, bone to bone.” His eyes turned from her and Lois saw what he had done.

He really was insane.

 

 

The great statue at the centre of Heroes’ Park was in six pieces. In the middle of them, the monster raised its huge hands and roared at the sky.

Superman flew at its face, figuring a good punch would at least hurt it. The creature swatted at him as if he were a fly. He swooped down to avoid the blow but it caught him. Oh! That hurt! The impact blew him across the park and he crashed into the ground with an impact that sent chunks of asphalt flying.

The monster picked up a chunk of statue and, using it as a club, brought it down on him. For a few moments, everything went black.

Superman could be hurt. His body was tougher than any human’s and he healed at an accelerated rate, but being squashed like a bug between granite and asphalt still hurt. He raised himself on all fours, his cape covering him like a shield, and looked up.

Wonder Woman’s lasso looped around the monster’s torso, pinning its arms. The rope glowed brightly as the monster struggled in vain against it. Superman took advantage of those precious seconds to fly upward, scan the ground and get the last few civilians in the area to a safe distance. Then he flew for the nearest patrol car.

“You need to evacuate this area,” he shouted to the cops. “Get everyone out of the harbour area as quickly as you can.”

One of them grabbed the radio repeated his orders. Satisfied, Superman returned to the fight.

 

 

Wonder Woman screamed with the effort of holding the monster down. She knew that, even with the lasso, she couldn’t hold it much longer. It was too strong!

She released the lasso, drew her sword and waited, watching for the right moment. The monster reacted to its unexpected freedom as she expected: by raising its arms to shrug off the lasso.

Wonder Woman leapt. She could not fly, but she could jump. She flew upward, over the creature’s head and as she reached the apex of her leap, she brought the sword down on its unprotected arm.

The blade sliced through flesh and sinew and bone, severing the limb above the elbow, leaving it hanging by a thin strip of flesh. Dark blood spurted from the wound. The monster roared its agony and Wonder Woman landed on her feet as Superman landed beside her.

“Wonder Woman,” Alfred’s voice came over the comm.

“A little busy here!” she returned.

“I noticed. You should know that the military are preparing to respond to the situation. The chatter moved to a secure channel before I could get the specifics.”

“They won’t get here in time,” Wonder Woman answered.

“They can’t dent this thing anyway,” Superman said.

The monster reached around itself with its remaining arm, grasped the dangling, severed hand and tore it away, bellowing all the time. It raised the stump to the sky.

“Oh, gods. It’s regenerating!”

Superman took a breath. “Wish me luck,” he said, and before Wonder Woman could do anything to stop him, he was flying, faster than a bullet from a gun. He flew close to the ground, a blur of scarlet against the darkness. When he reached the monster he didn’t punch or attack. Not this time. This time he lifted it into the air.

Wonder Woman heard him cry out with the effort as he flew, slowly at first, then picking up speed, carrying the monster into the air, over the bay, away from the city. Higher and higher he flew, until she could barely see him against the black of the sky.

The silence it left behind was deafening. For a moment, Wonder Woman could only stand there. She retrieved her fallen lasso and looped it back on its hook at her waist.

“Batman, what’s your status?”

“Martha is safe in the apartment. I’m just heading back to the plane.”

“I think he’s taking that thing into space. I can’t see them any more.”

“NORAD is tracking,” Alfred reported. “They’re still climbing.”

“Will it work?” Batman asked.

“I have no idea,” Wonder Woman told him. She turned her back on the broken statue and ran for the ship, and Lois.

 

 

#### Washington DC

“POTUS joining,” Major Farris reported.

Swanwick noted that her eyes never left the live stream of data and images from Metropolis. The situation room was in an uproar.

“Mr President,” he acknowledged.

“What the hell is it, Calvin?” The president demanded.

“We don’t know,” he answered, doing his best not to sound as helpless as he felt. “It emerged from the crashed Kryptonian ship.”

“Sir, they’ve cleared the city,” Farris reported.

“We can go straight to key red, Mr President,” General Baldwin suggested.

“Are you crazy?” Swanwick objected.

“They are high enough that we can nuke them with no casualties,” Baldwin insisted.

“ _One_ casualty, Mr President,” Swanwick pointed out relentlessly. “Superman.” But even as he spoke, he knew what was coming.

There was a silence, and then the President spoke. “God have mercy on us all.”

Swanwick nodded to Baldwin and prayed that Superman could outrun a ballistic nuclear missile.

 

 

#### Metropolis

Wonder Woman looped her lasso around Lex Luthor’s body and tied his hands. The young man offered no resistance. She tugged on the lasso and he walked as she indicated, toward the exit.

“The lasso is a gift of my people,” Wonder Woman explained to Lois. “When used as a weapon it will not break, no matter how much strain is put on it. But it is also an instrument of truth.”

Lois glanced back at Lex. “What do you mean?”

“It may not work as well for you as it does for me,” Wonder Woman said, “but as long as he is bound with it, he is bound to truth.”

“You mean he can’t lie?”

“Exactly.”

“But once he realises that, he’ll just stay quiet.”

Wonder Woman smiled. “Perhaps. I can compel answers, but whether it will work that way for you...I’m not sure. You’re strong, Lois. If you are a truthful person yourself, I believe you’ll be able to wield the lasso.” It was a big _if_. Lois’s profession was not well known for honesty. But Clark loved her. He wouldn’t love someone who lived her life in lies.

She offered the end of the lasso to Lois. “Regardless, he cannot free himself until you let him go. I suggest you wait until the police risk coming closer.”

Lois smiled and accepted the lasso. She turned to Lex. “Let’s start with why you had me abducted this morning.”

Lex looked at her, frowning, and began to speak.

 

 

As he threw himself and Luthor’s monster higher and higher above the Earth, Superman found the clamour of the city fading away. Though there was more to hear as the cities behind them blurred into many, it was paradoxically easier to cut through the billions of voices to find what he needed than it was to sift through thousands.

What he needed was Secretary Swanwick’s voice. He heard his conversation with the President. He knew a nuclear strike had been authorised. That told him just how expendable he was to them...but it also did seem like a reasonable solution.

He put on an extra burst of speed then slowed for a moment so the monster’s momentum carried it upward, away from him, for just a moment before it began to fall back. Not long enough. He pushed harder, higher, further.

In the near-vacuum of the thermosphere there was no sound. So Superman had no warning of the missile’s approach.

He saw it, too late. He pushed the monster just that little bit further, turning it into the path of the missile. He released it and started his dive back to Earth.

The missile struck.

Superman’s world became white noise and fire.

And pain.

And pain.

And nothing.

 

 

The Batplane landed in what was left of Heroes’ Park as Wonder Woman ran toward it. Batman opened the windshield and prepared to disembark.

Suddenly, there was light everywhere. He looked up to see a new sun in the sky above the bay. There was only one thing that could possibly be.

Wonder Woman reached him, threw herself against him, but her eyes, too, were on the sky. Batman held her, taking comfort as much as giving it.

“Superman?” he asked, knowing the answer. They nuked him. The bastards actually nuked him.

 

 

Martha Kent, alone in a strange apartment high above the city, could not avoid seeing the light in the sky. The windows of the penthouse gave her a perfect view.

She hugged herself tightly, looking up at the burning sky. She didn’t know what she was seeing, but she was sure it somehow involved her son.

Then something streaked out of the circle of fire. Like a meteorite, it burned bright as it fell, leaving an after-image in her sight as it smashed into the waters of the bay.

 

 

The Batplane streaked across the water, racing to the point of impact. Batman didn’t know whether it was Superman or the monster that fell, but either way, he needed to be there when it surfaced.

Beside him, Wonder Woman watched the skies anxiously. “I don’t see a second body. Shouldn’t they both fall?”

“Not if one was vaporised by that nuke,” Batman pointed out. He slowed the plane above Strikers Island and waited.

And waited, as the light from the bomb faded to nothing.

The water exploded ahead of them and the monster burst forth, bellowing with rage.

Batman broke out the cannons and fired.

 

 

#### Somewhere In Orbit

Far above the Earth, Superman drifted in space, unconscious, his body severely damaged by the nuclear blast.

As his body drifted out of the planet’s shadow and into the light of Earth’s yellow sun, his damaged cells responded to the radiation, shifting, repairing, regenerating. Strengthening.

Burned nerves re-grew and began to fire their urgent signals of pain, pain, _pain_ to his brain and Clark woke screaming. His lungs produced no sound. There was no air, not to breathe nor to conduct the sound waves, but his body struggled to express the agony in any way it could. He writhed, and screamed, and silently begged for an end.

But his body, nourished by the alien radiation of Earth’s sun, healed. Pain faded. Skin smoothed. Muscles strengthened. He hovered at the outer edge of Earth’s thermosphere, gazing at the sun that saved him. Then he turned and flew back to Earth.

There was an island in Metropolis’s bay: Strikers Island. Once a government facility where scientists tested biological weapons, Strikers Island was abandoned in 1975 when such weapons were outlawed. With access to the island still forbidden, there was nothing there but ruined buildings and seabirds.

And now, a monster stood on the island, its great fists pounding the remaining walls to rubble.

As Superman flew closer, he saw that the creature wasn’t there alone. Batman and Wonder Woman still fought, desperately outmatched.

He saw the moment Batman’s plane ran out of ammo. He saw the creature turn to the thing that had been shooting at it. He saw Batman scramble to get out of the plane. He saw the monster’s eyes burn red with a fire he had seen in only one other’s eyes: Zod.

Superman was too far away. Still weakened, he could not fly faster. He would not reach them in time.

Wonder Woman leapt in front of Batman. She raised her hands, wrists crossed like a shield. She was magnificent in that moment, an avenging angel, but the gesture seemed futile, her body could not possibly...

Red beams shot from the monster’s eyes, hit Wonder Woman’s crossed bracelets and rebounded. An arc of red formed over her and Batman.

Superman flew toward them.

The onslaught stopped. Wonder Woman parted her wrists and raised her hands as if pushing at an invisible barrier. The same scarlet energy shot from her hands to the creature. It roared and, impossibly, fell back. Somehow she had absorbed its energy and returned it.

Superman landed beside them. “Nice shot,” he said.

Wonder Woman was grinning, high on the adrenaline.

“We can’t beat that thing,” Batman said. “Whatever we throw at it seems to make it stronger.”

“I noticed,” Superman agreed.

“Going high didn’t work,” Wonder Woman said. “Can you go deep?”

Superman turned to her. “Deep?” They didn’t exactly have time for a long discussion.

“It’s strong but it needs space to move to use its strength. If you could bury it deep enough...”

“In the earth?”

“No, the ocean. The Puerto Rico trench is closest. I can show you, but I can’t swim that deep. Can you?”

Superman had no idea. He could survive under the water, yes, he knew that. But she was talking about depths where the sun that powered him couldn’t penetrate... And since this creature was part Kryptonian that was perfect. If he could bury it that deep it wouldn't be able to recharge. It might even die.

“Only one way to find out,” he said, and took flight just as the monster exploded out of the water once more.

 

 

#### Metropolis

Lois shoved her prisoner face-first against the fence. She was disgusted with everything she’d heard.

Lex doubled over as his body hit the fence post. He yelled in pain, but didn’t say anything more.

“One more thing,” Lois said. She reached for his hand and pulled the kryptonite ring from his finger.

“That’s mine!”

She slipped the ring onto her own hand. “Call it compensation,” she said and tugged on the lasso before directing him toward the patrol cars that now surrounded the facility. She began to unwind the lasso from his torso as they crossed the small distance.

One of the officers approached them and with a final twitch the rope fell away from Lex’s hands. Lois pushed him toward the cop.

“Kidnapping, assault, illegal genetic experimentation, and the manslaughter of everyone that creature has killed,” she said, projecting her voice so everyone in the vicinity could hear.

“You’re wasting your time.” Free of the lasso’s control, some of Lex’s former bravado returned. “My lawyers will have me free in an hour. Your evidence is your word against mine.”

Lois took the cell phone from her pocket, and touched the screen. Her voice came from the phone’s speaker. _Let’s start with why you had me abducted this morning._

The officer brandished a set of handcuffs and snapped them around Lex’s wrists. “You have the right to remain silent...”

Lois emailed copies of the MP3 to herself, Clark, Perry and Bruce Wayne, then handed the phone to the cop. “He gave me a full confession,” she smiled. “And Lex...”

He looked at her, saying nothing.

“You’d better hope they keep you inside for a very long time. You pissed off some very powerful people today.” Unable to resist, she grinned. “And that’s gonna make a great headline.”

 

 

#### The Caribbean, off the coast of Puerto Rico

Wonder Woman was raised on an island. She was a strong swimmer. She could hold her breath for an unnaturally long time and the dark and cold didn’t bother her. But she was not a fish and there were limits to her endurance. By the time they reached the co-ordinates of the Milwaukee Deep, the deepest part of the Puerto Rico trench, she was near her limit.

Superman carried the creature through the water, surfacing occasionally to blast it again with his laser fire which seemed to keep it subdued. Batman flew alongside.

“Here,” Wonder Woman said finally, coming to the surface so they could talk.

“You know you’ll probably set off an earthquake doing this,” Batman pointed out.

“I can keep it down to a two or three,” Superman promised. “If this works.” He looked at Diana. “Promise me you won’t go too deep. Tap out while you’ve still got enough to get you to the surface.”

“I will.”

“Then let’s do this.” He rose out of the water, lifting the monster with him, flew upward, turned and dived.

Batman barely had time to get out of the way of the splash. Wonder Woman took a deep breath and dived under the dark water.

Down. Down.

Superman struggled with the creature that had suddenly figured out it needed to breathe. Wonder Woman went to his aid. Together, they carried it deeper.

Deeper into the black.

She felt the pressure build in her lungs and released her air in short bursts of bubbles.

They swam deeper.

When she could go no further, she signalled to Superman with a touch, and pointed upward. He nodded. Wonder Woman released the creature and turned to swim for the surface.

As she turned, something, some movement, caught her eye. A dark shape. Moving. Closing on their position.

Impossible to cry warning. Impossible to get Superman’s attention. Already he was far below. She swam upward, abandoning him because there was nothing else she could do, and live.

 

 

_Hold, intruder!_

The words thundered in Superman’s mind and his body obeyed instinctively before his mind caught up. He had almost stopped his descent, and the creature, sensing weakness, roused again.

Superman forced his thoughts back into focus and redoubled his efforts to take the monster down.

_Hold!_

This time, he didn’t slow, but he did turn his head, searching the ocean for something, anything, that might be the source of that strange inner thunder.

The figure that approached appeared human, and yet could not be. Thick dark hair, skin patterned with scales, eyes that seemed to glow in this depth where the sun could not penetrate. The man - if it was a man - held a trident and pointed it at him, matching the speed of his descent into the deep.

Who on Earth...?

_I could ask you the same._

_You hear my thoughts?_

_Obviously. By what right do you invade my realm?_

_Necessity. I need a prison for this...abomination._ Superman didn’t know if this strange man could see his thoughts as well as hear, but what did he have to lose? He focussed on recalling what happened in Metropolis, the creature’s unnatural birth, their flight into space, the bomb, Wonder Woman’s plan.

_You ask much. Will you repay the debt?_

_If I can,_ Superman promised, not sure what form his repayment might take, but willing.

 _Then follow._ The man pointed his trident down and swam.

Others joined them, surrounding Superman and the creature. Still they descended until finally, finally, he glimpsed the bottom. So deep the water was no longer cold but warmed by the Earth’s core, Superman began to doubt the wisdom of this plan. The heat might stimulate the creature, heal it. But it was too late.

The strange warriors took the creature from him and he had no way to ask what they were doing or to object. He could only watch as they carried it to the floor of the Deep.

The floor moved. Not the earthquake Batman feared. No, this was some new creature. What he had taken for the ocean floor was a living thing! It rose, slowly, and tentacles thicker than tree trunks uncurled. It surrounded the creature, pulled it inward with apparent ease and was once again still. Invisible.

The creature wasn’t dead. Could it escape? Could it fight this thing?

_It will hold. You will repay the debt._

There was an implied threat - if he failed to repay, the creature would be released. But Superman had no intention of betraying his promise.

_I will repay the debt. You only have to ask._

_Then go._

Superman hovered where he was for a moment longer. _Thank you_ , he sent and saw the strange warrior nod in acknowledgement. Then he turned and flew upward through the water.

 

 

Diana broke the surface, gasping for breath. A wave splashed over her head and she choked on the water. She had waited too long.

“Diana!”

She sank beneath the water again. Frantically, she kicked out but her legs felt weak and heavy. She tried to reach upward and found only more water. Her heart raced and she took an involuntary breath. Water streamed into her lungs and she fought not to cough.

“Diana!”

A splash beside her and she reached out blindly. Her hand found the cord, one of Batman’s lines, and she wrapped it about her wrist gratefully. He reeled her in like a fish on a line and pulled her out of the water and onto the Batplane.

“Diana,” he said again, pulling the Bat mask off. He held her against him, his arms tight around her.

She returned his embrace, savouring it, glad to be alive.

Moments later they were inside the plane, sweeping across the water on their way back to Metropolis.

They could not wait for Superman. He would succeed or fail; there was nothing more they could do.

She saw Bruce look at the fuel gauge. “Can we make it back?” she asked.

Bruce looked grim. “She’s not built for long distance. We have twenty percent fuel and that’s more than I expected.”

“What do we do?” Diana asked the question calmly, but she was worried.

“Hope we can make it to Florida,” Bruce answered tensely. “As long as we land on US soil Alfred can send a chopper.”

“Can we make it?”

He grimaced. “It’ll be close.”

Neither of them spoke after that. Diana closed her eyes and leaned back in the co-pilot’s seat. She tried to think of nothing.

She had abandoned Superman.

And Bruce let out a sudden shout. “He’s here!”

Diana opened her eyes, twisted in the seat to see Superman flying alongside. He gave her a thumbs-up: victory.

“Need a boost?” he shouted.

Bruce tapped the fuel gauge. “Won’t refuse, if you’re up to it.”

“Hold tight.”

Superman vanished from Diana’s sight but a moment later she felt the plane pick up speed. Then everything blurred, g-force slammed her into the seat, and seconds later, eased. Impossibly, she saw Metropolis ahead.

They flew side by side toward the city and came to Heroes’ Park. Batman landed beside the ruins of the statue and opened the plane.

Diana started to climb out, then saw Lois running toward them. She stayed in the plane, reaching for Bruce’s hand. His gloved fingers closed around hers. They were home. They were safe.

 

 

Lois saw the plane touch down and ran across the park. There he was, the cape billowing around him in the wind. She threw herself into Superman’s arms.

“Clark, oh God, I was so worried!”

He held her close for a moment. “I’m alright, Lois. Everything’s alright.” He drew back and lifted her chin with one finger. “Lex?” he asked.

“Under arrest.”

Superman glanced up at the plane, where Wonder Woman and Batman waited. “Where’s my mother?” he asked.

Batman answered, “My apartment where we met the other day. It seemed like the safest place. You can use the place as long as you need.”

Superman nodded. “Thanks. For everything. Now let’s get out of here before something else happens.”

As the plane windshield closed around them, Lois heard Batman say, “Gotham?”

And Wonder Woman answered, “Yes, Gotham.”

Lois laid her head on Clark’s shoulder. “You need to see your mom.”

“I really do,” he agreed.

“Could you drop me at the _Planet_ on the way? I have a hell of a story to write for the morning edition.”

His arms tightened around her waist and together, they rose into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a canon note: in the BvS movie Aquaman was shown inhabiting the Tonga Trench, which is in the South Pacific. I couldn't see the Batplane, or Wonder Woman, making it that far, so I relocated to the Caribbean. Not quite as deep, but at least my heroes could survive the journey!


	5. Epilogue: Dawn of Justice

#### Gotham City

The clothing Diana planned to wear was laid out on her bed and the jewels were on the dresser. She was in the middle of fixing her hair when the door buzzer sounded. She knew very few people in Gotham, and even fewer who would casually show up at her door. She pulled on a robe and went to the door.

The security camera at the apartment building's door transmitted its feed to the small screen beside her speaker. As she watched, the man looked up at the camera, adjusting his glasses in a nervous gesture. Clark Kent.

Diana pushed the speaker's button. “Come in, Clark.”

He smiled briefly at the camera and disappeared from view. Moments later, she opened her door to him.

Clark glanced at her robe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this would be a bad time.”

“You are welcome any time, Clark. I’m getting ready to go out but I have time. Can I get you something?”

“No, I, um...” He started to push the glasses back up his nose, then shrugged and removed them. “I need to ask you something. About Bruce.”

She led him into the living room and sat in her usual chair. “Ask away,” she invited.

“Are you and he...together?”

“You mean are we lovers? Is that your business?” She spoke more sharply than she intended.

“I guess not. But I’m trying to figure something out and...”

“I don't think it’s easy to define our relationship. It would be complicated even if we were not both leading double lives. I love him. Does that help?”

He frowned to himself. “Maybe.”

“What is it you really want to know, Clark?”

“Do you trust him?”

“With my life,” she answered at once.

“I mean, do you trust him to do the right thing? Batman is a criminal. Some of the things he’s done don’t sit right with me.”

Light began to dawn. “The law is not always right, Clark. Bruce is a good man, and for better or worse this city is his obsession. He will always protect Gotham, and he will always do whatever it takes to protect Gotham. But he works _with_ the police, which should tell you something. But you are still avoiding your real question. What is it?”

Clark sighed. “I suppose what I really want to know is whether _I_ should trust him. When we first met, in Washington...” he shook his head. “Diana, when I fought Zod I knew I was fighting for my life, but Zod didn’t hate me. I was just in his way. I don’t think I ever knew someone truly hated me until Bruce Wayne.”

Diana thought about that. “He saw you as a man willing to sacrifice a city to save the world. To him, that’s how evil men think. And you have to understand, the day it all happened, he was there in Metropolis. He saw buildings fall and people he knew die.”

Clark nodded gravely. “And he blamed me. I do understand that. I blame myself.”

“Bruce knows you better now,” Diana said. “I don’t think you will always agree with the things he does, but you can trust Bruce to be true to himself. If you understand what matters to him, he will always do what he sees as right.”

Clark seemed to come to a decision. “I think that answers my question. Diana, I need to speak to him, tonight. Will you come with me?”

“Of course. As Diana, or...”

“As Wonder Woman. I know you said you can’t fly, but we can fly together, if you trust me.”

Diana was grinning before she could stop herself. She was eager to fly with him. “Of course I trust you. Just give me a moment.”

In the bedroom, she rehung the dress she had intended to wear, then realised she needed to give Bruce some warning. They couldn’t drop in on him - literally, since they were going to fly - without letting him know they were coming. She called him on her Blackberry.

“Wayne residence,” Alfred’s voice answered Bruce’s cell phone.

“Hello Alfred, it’s Diana. Is he at home?”

“He is in the shower, Miss Prince. If you could wait a moment...”

“No, don’t disturb him. Will you give him a message?”

“Certainly.”

“Tell him I’m on my way, with Superman. If he’s willing, we’d like to meet him downstairs.”

“Is there more trouble, Miss Prince?” Alfred sounded alarmed, and after the past few days, Diana couldn’t blame him.

“I don't think so,” she answered quickly, to reassure him, “but it seems important. We’ll be there shortly.”

“Very well, I'll tell him at once.”

 

 

Flying was as sensational as she knew it would be.

When she returned to her living room as Wonder Woman, it was Superman who waited for her. They walked out onto her balcony together. He held her with one hand at her waist and she slid her arm around him beneath the flowing cape. He gave her an almost shy smile and then they were zooming into the air, so fast it took her breath away. When they were high enough he levelled off and slowed so she could see the city beneath them.

It was spectacular, and she wasn’t afraid at all. Though he seemed to hold her only lightly, Wonder Woman knew he would not let her fall. She saw the city beneath them, the tall towers and the ruined docks, the smaller houses of the suburbs giving way to green spaces as they headed toward Wayne Manor.

“Okay, there?” Superman asked her.

“I could get used to this!” Wonder Woman smiled back.

“Where do I need to go? I know the manor itself is a ruin.”

“There’s a house on the lake, but that’s not where we’re going. When we get there, look beneath the water.”

Superman hovered over the lake. He was silent for a long time, gazing down. “That’s amazing. And a little terrifying. He’s got a whole military base down there!”

“For a one-man army. Can you see if he’s in the cave?”

“Two men. Bruce and someone else.”

“That’s Alfred. They’ll be watching for us. Fly low and they’ll open the door.”

Superman did as she suggested and the lake entrance opened up. From above, it looked like the parting of the Red Sea. Water spilled into the chasm that suddenly opened up in the lake, revealing a ramp and a very wet doorway.

“Hold on,” Superman warned. He dived for the opening and was through it so fast they barely got wet.  In seconds they were in the Batcave and flying up to the computer platform, where Superman set her down gently.

Bruce was waiting for them. He wasn’t in his suit, but he had dressed in the tight black pants and shirt he always wore under the armour.

“That was quite an entrance,” he smiled at Wonder Woman, then turned to Superman. “Welcome to my world.”

 

 

Bruce wasn’t sure how he felt about Superman inviting himself to the Batcave. It was his private domain, secret for very good reasons. But he was going to have to find a way to live with this strange alien living so close to Gotham. He might as well start at home.

While he and Alfred waited, Bruce sat at the data console to review the news. There were the usual criminal elements trying to take advantage of the chaos Lex had created. The Batman would be on the streets after dark, ready to persuade them that stepping into that power void was a bad idea. For a while, Gotham would be a little more peaceful.

The alien ship in Metropolis Harbour had been destroyed in a fire. According to the fire department, the heat was so intense it should have spread to the surrounding city blocks in seconds, yet somehow it was confined to that relatively small space. No report placed Superman on the scene.

Lex Luthor was in prison, denied bail while Metropolis prosecutors tried to figure out what exactly they could charge him with. There wasn’t actually a law that said you couldn’t use alien technology to create a monster. They would figure it out, and Lex would serve time, though Bruce suspected it wouldn’t be as long as Lex deserved.

Lex was young. He would be back. And as much as prison was supposed to be about reform and rehabilitation, a few years inside had a way of making people like Lex worse. They had time to brood, to plot revenge and to learn the wrong lessons from their mistakes.

“Bruce?” Alfred said softly, hearing him sigh.

Bruce shook his head. “Nothing. Just thinking about Lex.”

“Ah.”

“I failed that kid,” Bruce confessed. It was something he could say to Alfred, if no one else.

“No. He was never your responsibility.”

“His father was. If I’d been paying closer attention, if I made more effort to reach out to him after Luthor died... Then maybe...”

“If I may, sir, Lex Luthor is an adult who made his own choices. You are not responsible. Neither is it too late.”

“What are you saying, Alfred?”

Alfred stood at the rail looking down into the cave. Bruce followed his gaze to the broken costume and halberd that had been Robin’s, and he knew what Alfred was thinking.

“Unlike Master Jason, young Lex is still alive. You can still make a difference for him, if you truly want to.”

“I beat up criminals, Alfred. I don’t coddle them.” Although Alfred had a point... Bruce turned back to the console and saw the perimeter alert flash. “They’re here,” he said, and opened the lake entrance to the cave.

Mere seconds later, Superman and Wonder Woman were landing on the platform beside him. _Be nice,_ Bruce reminded himself.

“That was quite an entrance,” he remarked. Diana looked like she enjoyed it: her cheeks were flushed with excitement and she was smiling. Bruce turned to Superman. “Welcome to my world.” He put a slight stress on _my_ : a gentle reminder that they were in his territory.

“I’m impressed,” Superman said, looking around the cave.

“I’m glad you came.” Bruce turned back to the console and sealed the cave entrance. “There’s something I want to discuss with both of you.” He knew they had come to talk to him, but this was his turf; he was going to get his say in first.

Diana gave him a look that said she had no patience with male dominance games.

Superman said simply, “I’m listening.”

“There are others like you and Diana.” Bruce called up a file as he spoke. “People with, uh, powers or abilities. And some of them seem to want to be like you. To help people, I mean. Look at this.”

He showed them a video file of a robbery in a store. One moment the man held a gun, the next he didn’t. Then Bruce replayed it frame by frame. A man-shaped blur was visible. This was just one of the files he had taken from Lex Luthor’s database, and many of them pre-dated the invasion. Lex Luthor senior had been compiling information on the so-called metahumans for several years.

“That’s in Central City,” Bruce added. “There are more.”

Diana nodded. “There have always been heroes,” she said in a very careful tone.

“I want to find them,” Bruce said. “Bring them together.”

“Why?” Superman asked.

“So that the next time some idiot creates an unkillable monster or hostile aliens invade, we will be prepared. Us, not the government.”

The thing Lex unleashed had been dangerous and frightening, but going straight to a nuclear response was a ridiculous over-reaction. Had that bomb been just a little closer to the Earth when it detonated, it could have sent out an EMP that would have devastated not just Metropolis, but most of the east coast of America. They still could not be sure there wouldn’t be problems with nuclear fallout. And it hadn’t even worked! If anything, feeding the creature that much nuclear energy made it stronger.

No, next time, and there would be a next time, the government and military had to trust people like Superman and Wonder Woman to get the job done.

“What if they don't want to be found?” Diana asked.

“We all have our secrets to keep,” Bruce told her. “My guess is most of these people will be living the same kind of double lives we do. We can help each other, keep each other’s secrets.”

“I don’t know,” Diana answered.

“It’s worth considering,” Superman agreed. “Do you have a plan?”

“Find them, talk to them. Diana is good at seeing the truth of people. She can help us avoid the ones who will be corrupted by their power. I think...I hope...it will come together naturally if we reach out in the right way.”

Superman raised an eyebrow. “According to you, even the best of men can turn into the worst.”

Bruce heard the echo of his own words. He stood and took a step toward the Man of Steel. “True. But you had a seriously bad day yesterday, and we’re all still here. Maybe if we all have friends to back us up, things will never get as bad as I feared.”

Superman gave a small shake of his head. “I hope you’re right, Bruce. But that brings me to the reason I came here.” Superman glanced at Diana, then turned to Bruce. He produced a small box from somewhere beneath the cape.

“I have something I want you to keep.” He offered the box to Bruce.

Bruce took it. “This looks like lead.” His fingers moved to the clasp.

“It is. Don’t open it while I’m here. Lois took it from Luthor.”

Wonder Woman’s eyes widened as she grasped his meaning.

Bruce knew the surprise showed in his own expression, too. “Is this...?” he asked, not quite believing it.

“Kryptonite,” Superman confirmed. “Luthor had it set into a ring.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

Superman met his eyes. “Honestly, so I can sleep at night.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You were right, in Washington. I want to use my power to help people, to save lives and make this world a better place if I can. But some of the worst people in history have done evil with exactly that intention. I can do a lot of things you can’t do, but I can’t see into the future. I don’t know what might happen tomorrow or next year.” He moved away and looked down into the Batcave with its arsenal of vehicles and weapons. “I need you to have that ring because the time might come when you have to use it.”

Bruce closed his fist around the lead box. “You know that, if the time comes, I _will_ use it.”

Superman turned back to him. “That’s why I’m giving it to _you_ , not Diana. She would hesitate. She’d want to wait just a bit longer, to be sure. You won’t. I’m counting on that, Batman.”

 

 

Why did men speak so easily of death? Diana looked from one man to the other, willing one of them to say something that would make this less painful.

She understood why Clark was doing this. She even understood why he wanted her here, to witness it. Someone had to know Bruce possessed the ring. Someone they both trusted had to know, because if Superman was not incorruptible, neither was Bruce Wayne.

Bruce crossed the platform to where Superman stood. “If I'm going to hold onto this, I want something from you in return.”

Superman looked surprised, but he answered simply, “Name it.”

“When you have a bad day, ask for help. You're not alone.”

For the first time since they entered the cave, Superman smiled. “I will. Thanks.”

Bruce returned his smile, a little tentatively. That made Diana smile too. She wasn’t sure the two men would ever manage to be friends, but Bruce was trying. That was more than she had expected.

Bruce turned to Diana. “Do you both want to stay? I have food and booze upstairs.”

“Thanks, but tonight I have plans with my mom,” Superman relaxed as he spoke.

“Diana?”

She smiled. “I’ll stay. We have a lot to talk about.”

 

The End.


End file.
